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Vet She Loved Him 

By Mrs. Kate Vaughn, 

AND 

Jephthah’s Daughter 

By Julia Magruder. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 



An Excellent New Novel. 


INVISIBLE -HANDS. 


aftp:r the german of 

F. VON ZOBELTITZ, 

BY 

S. E. BOGGS, 

Translator of “ The Little Countess f etc. 

WITH ILU8TRA TfONS BY JAMES FAQ AN. 

12mo. 372 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price. $1.25. 

^ Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is a most excellent novel. The incidents are natural and 
probable, although uncommon ; and the admirable plot is based 
on transactions in Berlin and in Italy, both German and Italian 
characters figuring in it. It is rare that anything so powerful and 
dramatic comes to us in the form of German, fiction. The story 
is intensely interesting, constantly gaining as new characters and 
fresh incidents are introduced in the working-out of the plot. 
The character of the Italian lawyer is worthy of the times of 
of Machiavelli. It presents a lovely picture of German family 
life, and the female characters represent all that is charming in 
girlhood and womanhood. This is a novel which everybody can 
read with pleasure and profit. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, - 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


<*Tlie Wholesome Educator of Millions,’’ 


1894 

Semi-Centennial Volume 



For Fifty Years the Leading Illustrated National Family 
Weekly Paper of America. 


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Mrs. M. A. Kidder, 

Eben E. Rexford, 

Elizabeth Olmis, 

E. A. Robinson, 


Hon. James Bryce, 

Olive Thorne Miller, 

Mary Kyle Dallas, 

Mrs. N. S. Stowell, 
Theodore Roosevelt, ^ 
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Prof. Felix L. Oswald. 


A Four-Dollar Paper for Only TWO Dollars. 


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An Original Story of Adventure. 


IN THE CHINA SEA. 


BY 


SEWARD W. HOPKINS, 


Author of “ Two Ge7itleme7i of Hawaii f etc,, etc, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PRUETT SHARE AND H. M. EATON. 

12mo. 300 Fag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ In the China Sea” is a story of the Pacific Coast, where the 
almond-eyed Mongolians have a quarter in every city, whence 
they communicate with their kindred of the Flowery Kingdom 
across the seas. The story deals with the disappearance of a 
beautiful girl, who is traced to Portland, Oregon, where she is 
embarked on a steamer bound for China. There is an exciting 
pursuit and search for this beautiful girl. The extraodinary 
things which happen, the sights and people met with and de- 
scribed, in detailing this pursuit and search, render this story one 
of the most interesting and exciting productions of modern fiction. 
It will rank with “King Solomon’s Mines” and Jules Verne’s 
wonderful narrations. An unknown people of strange customs, 
manners and appearance is introduced. A great war is started, 
carried on and brought to a conclusion. The invention of the 
author seems to be boundless, and the interest of the reader is 
stimulated by the new and wonderful developments that crowd 
upon one another as the story proceeds. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid 
on receipt of .price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


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YET SHE LOVED HIM. 



MRS. KATE VAUGHN, 

-A ’ 

Author oj “ The Mother's Legacy,'''' “ The Banker's Daughter,'''’ 
Erin-Go-Bragh,'" “ The False Friend,'’'' etc,, etc. 


AND 


JEPHTHAH’S 




JULIA MAGRUDER, 

% 


Author of “Across the Chasm,'''' “At Anchor,'' “Honored in 
the Breach," “A Magnificent Plebeian," etc. 



/ 



WITH ILLVSTRATION BY WARREN B. 


NEW YUJaC: 

ROBERT CONNER'S 

PUBLISHERS. 


THE CHOICE SERIES: ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. IIS, 
JULY 1, 18*4. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 




\ 




COPYRIGHT, 1890 AND 1894 . 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 



YET SHE LOVED HIM. 


CHAPTER I. 

I T ’S of no use, Cicely ! My only chance of 
I ever being anything but the poor devil I am 
^ is to avoid offending my uncle. Let him once 
suspect I'have married you, or any one unknown to 
him, and I may as well give up the game.” 

“ But you told me,” sobbed a beautiful young 
woman, turning a pair of splendid dark eyes, 
drowned in tears, upon him — “ you told me when 
you took me from home that within a year you 
would acknowledge me openly as your wife, and 
here I am, after all these years, a miserable, un- 
happy, half-and-half sort of person, whom ladies 
won’t recognize, and whom other people are often 
barely civil to !” 

She was very handsome, poor soul, but her beauty 
was sadly marred by lines of coarseness and discon- 
tent. 

[ 7 ] 


8 


Yei She Loved Him. 


“ Well, my dear, it is to put an end to all that I 
am going,” said Lawrence St. John, impatiently. 
Then, his countenance darkening, he added : “ But 
if you are troublesome you will upset my plans. 
And remember, so sure as you do that, I have done 
with you. I mean either to send for you or come 
back within a year, and you will get money when- 
ever I have it. If you don’t get it, remember it is 
because I have none, and any fuss or clamor will 
only make matters the worse for you and ruin me. 
Come now, be reasonable. Dry your eyes and say 
good-by.” 

“ Oh, Lawrence ! You will keep your word to 
me ? You will come back !” cried unhappy Cicely, 
throwing herself on his breast. 

“ Of course. I can’t help myself. If I get no 
money I must vSell out. Then England will be no 
place for me. If I do get it, I will send for you, 
but mind, wait patiently. Don’t you dare to come 
after me, or you shall starve ; I will never look at 
you again if you come between me and my plans.” 

His looks were full of ominous anger as he spoke, 
and the poor foolish girl, who loved him through 
much bad treatment and neglect, withdrew, shudder- 
ing, from his cold, unsheltering breast, and sobbing 
once more her entreaties for him to keep his word, 
she uttered a broken farewell, and Captain St. John 
hastily left the^house. 

“Thank heaven that’s over ! What a fool I must 
have been ever to tie such a log as that to my leg ! 
Well, the break is made. If I can only keep her in 
funds, I don’t believe she will give me niuch 


Yet She Loved Him. 


9 


trouble. She likes New York, and would not dare 
follow me. She ’ll drink herself to death if she 
only has money enough. But if she bothers me she 
must look to herself.” 

* * * -Jf * 

More than the promised year passed by, and 
Lawrence St. John, instead of returning to America, 
or sending for Cicely, is in Ireland, seeking the ruin 
of another woman’s life. He has been visiting 
Lord Ferrars at Ballyreen ; it is his last nighh and 
he is standing beneath the oaks in the park ; by his 
side is a lovely girl, beautiful Lady Madge Doyle, 
Lord Ferrars’s daughter and heiress. 

“ My darling, how can I leave you,” he mur- 
mured, ‘‘knowing you will soon be surrounded with 
men who will have your father’s approval in paying 
court to you, while I, almost penniless, will be eat- 
ing my heart out with jealousy.” 

“ Jealousy ! How could you be jealous, when 
you know I love you .so dearly?” 

“ But, my precious, see how you will be tempted !” 
He gazed into her upturned face, his dark eyes 
bending into hers, and the girl thrills beneath his 
glance and her eyes sink. “ M}»(farling ! My dar- 
ling! If I could be sure of you !” he murmured, 
pressing her passionately to him and turning her 
radiant face up toward him. She felt his bosom 
swell, and believed it was with genuine emotion, 
and desired only to reassure and comfort him with 
proofs of her own love, and told him so. “ Madge, 
my precious,my own,” he said, kissing her sweet lips 
between every word, “ will you give me one proof?” 


lO 


Yet She Loved Him. 


There was no one to warn her, to save her, and 
she answered : 

“ I will ; oh, gladly !” 

‘‘ Marry me then, my darling.” 

“ But — my father !” she cried, startled, yet not for 
a moment realizing the gravity of what he asked. 

“ That is just it, my dear. I am now but a poor 
soldier. He would never give you tome ; but, once 
married, I shall have courage to leave you, to do 
everything to make myself worthy of you ; and if 
you are once mine, we shall gain your father’s con- 
sent sooner or later.” 

‘‘ But he is not well. I cannot grieve him now. 
Oh, it would break his heart !” 

“ It need not, my own love. Marry me directly 
you get to Dublin, and we will keep the secret till 
the time for telling him comes.” 

“ Why not wait ?” she asked, tremulously. I 
will try to make him listen to me. He is very good 
and will deny me nothing.” 

“ Do not torture me,” he said with a fierce impa- 
tience, which coming, as it seemed, from love, was 
sweet to her. “ cannot bear it ! I cannot leave 
you ! Ah, if you love me, what is it to do ? You 
may keep the secret as long as you like, it will only 
let me know beyond a doubt that you are mine — my 
own, sweet, littl^f wife !” 

She trusted him utterly, and the fatal promise 
was given ; and then, blushing and trembling with 
the sweet dawn of her girl’s love, she escaped from 
his arms and rushed into the house. 

A week later and Lord Ferrars and his daughter 


Yet She Loved Him. 


II 


and the young lady whom he allows her to have 
with her, instead of the usual elderly chaperon, are 
in Dublin, and Madge has confided what she be- 
lieves to be her secret to Laura Perceval, who knows 
it already and has worked to bring it about. 

Miss Perceval was as handsome in her way as 
Lady Madge, although ten years her senior, and 
her dark beauty was yet unfaded notwithstanding 
her twenty-seven summers. But when Madge, the 
evening after she had given her promise to St. 
John, entered her friend’s room in her white peig- 
noir, her golden hair rippling round her in a sunny 
cloud, her blushing face radiant with happiness, 
and confessed her secret, no one would have sup- 
posed, from the start of dismay with which Laura 
had heard it, that Lawrence St. John had regularly 
reported progress to his coadjutrix. Indeed, al- 
though they had met apparently as strangers, when 
St. John arrived at Lord Ferrars’s, his being there at 
all was in consequence of an understanding with 
Laura, who was his half-sister, and the invitation 
to stay at Ballyreen, apparently casually given by 
Gerald, Lord Ferrars’s nephew, and as casually ac- 
cepted, as a matter of fact had^fteen planned and 
schemed for months ; Lawren?CQ St. John had de- 
termined to ignore poor Cicely, and to risk every- 
thing and marry the heiress, whose companion 
Laura was ; and Laura was equally determined to 
make a breach between Lord Ferrars and his 
daughter. Her object will be seen later, but in 
order to carry it out the pair of adventurers had 
agreed mutually to aid each other’s plans with a 


12 


Yet She Loved Him. 


mental reservation on the part of each of them, 
that such plans must in no case interfere with his 
or her own, and it may here be said that St. John 
had no idea of Laura’s own object ; he believed she 
was helping him for what she would gain when he 
was master of Lady Madge’s fortune, and she al- 
lowed him to think so. 

And therefore when sweet Madge, in her girlish 
joy, told her false friend the promise she had made, 
Laura concealed the triumph she felt, and pre- 
tended to dissuade Madge from the perilous step 
she was about to take ; but the very arguments she 
used seemed to Madge to show how selfish she 
would be to let prudence rule her. 

Thus it was that, one cold, foggy morning, poor 
Lady Madge stood at the altar of an obscure little 
church, and before she had half realized the gravity 
of the step she was taking, she was made a wife. 

Her first downward step ! 

A dismal sense of her folly took possession of 
her mind the minute the dreary ceremony was over. 
What a way for Lord Ferrars’s daughter to marry ! 

And then she ^bought of her father who idolized 
her — surely he would forgive her when he knew 
her husband better. But when St. John took her 
in his arms and kissed her, and talked rapturously 
of their future, she was comforted. All would be 
well, of course, and the sweet, tremulous lips again 
parted in a confiding smile. 

At the church-door they separated, vSt. John to 
return to the Curagh of Kildare, where his regi- 
ment was, and Lady Madge and Laura to Merrion 


Vef She Loved Him, 


13 


Square, and when she again reached her father’s 
house none suspected the fatal drama that had just 
begun. 

The secret was well kept, and Lord Ferrars and 
his household left Dublin for his annual visit to his 
English estate of Melford, in Devonshire, without it 
being suspected. But the storm was about to break. 

Lord Ferrars, generally so placid and calm, was 
in his library in a state of agitation very unusual to 
him. An open letter was in his hand. 

“ It’s a lie, of course ; anonymous letters always 
are. I ought to have thrown it in the fire ; but 
there may have been some girlish folly connected 
with this fellow. I wish to heaven I had known be- 
fore what I know now — he never would have entered 
my doors. I never shall forgive Gerald unless he 
can prove to me he also was deceived. My poor, 
motherless girl ! Heaven grant that I have not 
been too blind ! I ought to have guarded her 
better. But I will show her this, in case there has 
been any romantic nonsense. She will see what 
sort of man he is. But who can have written it?” 
he muttered, as he rang the bell. “ Some one who 
wants to balk St. John, if he has^any designs on my 
little Madge.” 

While he waited for Madge to come he reread the 
note for the twentieth time. 

“My Lord: A friend who cannot know of a great wrong 
without making an effort to prevent it entreats you to guard your 
daughter. Captain St. John is pacifying his creditors with as- 
surances that he is to marry Lady Margaret Doyle, the heiress, 
and as they correspond, the writer fears this warning may even 
now be too late.” 


Yet She Loved Him. 


H 


There was no signature. 

“ It is very strange. Who coiildh.3iVQ written this ?” 

The door opened, and Lady Madge, beautiful as 
ever, but with a more thoughtful expression on her 
sweet, young face than when she went so gayly to 
her ruin three months before, stood before him. 
Her secret burdened her. 

“ My dear, I have something very serious to talk 
to you about. Listen to this letter.” 

He took up the anonymous note and read it. 

To his surprise, instead of an indignant outburst, 
she was silent ; the color left her cheek, and she 
seemed as if she could hardly support herself. 

“ Madge, you look strange ! Can you not tell me 
there is not the slightest foundation for this story?” 

Madge recovered herself somewhat. She had 
known the truth must be told some time, only she 
had believed she would have the telling of it 
herself. Better, pei:haps, as it was. 

Papa — I have lacked courage to tell you, but — 
but I have long loved Captain St. John.” 

She had expected some terrible outburst of 
anger, and was not prepared for the calm irony 
with which he said : 

“ Indeed ! And you actually lacked courage to 
tell me that ridiculous fact ? And well you might ! 
Do you know what and who this St. John is? No, 
of course not ! How should you ? I assure you / 
did not, or he would never have darkened my 
doors ! Well, he is simply an adventurer, trading 
on his good looks and smooth tongue for a living. 
He was brought here by your cousin Gerald, who, for 


Yet She Loved Him. 


5 


having dared so abuse my hospitality, will never 
enter my house while I live. I suppose he got 
Gerald to introduce him by the .same means as he 
elbowed his way into other houses, which he could 
never have entered by fair means. His lever is 
debt ; he plays with such unlucky, young fools as 
fall in his way, and as they cannot easily pay, he 
allows their debt to stand, provided they will make 
him one of themselves. He is an heiress-hunter, 
and hopes to meet with some elderly spinster who 
will give herself and her money into his keeping. 
Since I have been in Dublin I heard his character. 
I ordered Gerald to take care he never again came 
to my house. I had no idea then that I had to defend 
my own nest, but I was determined, so far as I had 
power to veto it, his audacity should not succeed. 
Now Madge, I suppose I have said enough to cure 
your romantic fancy. I shall, of course, expect you 
to give me your word that you will hold no corres- 
pondence with him at any time.” 

He looked at his beautiful daughter as he spoke ; 
he did not like the firmly-set mouth, the kindling 
eye and haughty head. 

“ Father, some enemy — the same who wrote that 
letter, perhaps, has slandered Lawrence St. John to 
you ! / know and love him !" 

“ Madge, this is idle nonsense ! I do not want to 
play the part of a melodramatic father, but I forbid 
you to hold any communication with him. Prepare 
to leave this place to-morrow. We shall go to Ger- 
many for a couple of years, I trust time will bring 
you to your senses.” 


i6 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Madge swept a low courtesy to her father, that 
had as much proud defiance as respect in it, for her 
Irish blood was up, and then, with a stately step, 
she left the room. But the instant she was out of 
the sight of servants her pride gave way, and she 
rushed along the corridor to her own room, there 
to weep in indignation and love. 

She had not long been thus indulging the luxury 
of woe when the door opened and Laura entered. 
She went to the couch on which Madge had flung 
herself. 

“ What is the matter, my darling?” 

“ Oh, Laura ! Papa has found out about St. John. 
What can I do? He forbids my ever seeing him 
or hearing of him again, and says we shall start for 
Germany to-morrow.” 

“ Then he does not know^//.^” said Laura, with a 
soft note of inquiry in her voice. 

“ No ; I had not courage to tell him. What can 
I do? To go to Germany is impossible !” 

“ Quite, my dearest. You have no choice now. 
Your first duty is to your husband. Your father 
will come to reason when he ’ sees opposition will 
do no good.” 

‘‘ Ah, yes !” she cried, starting up. “ I must go ; 
I must go to Lawrence. Yet it kills me to leave 
dear papa so ungratefully ; he has been such a 
loving father hitherto ! But I must ! I must !” 

“You must, my darling girl, and leave it to time, 
which cures all things, to cure his unreasonable 
prejudices*” 





CHAPTER II. 

Captain St. John was lounging- on a couch in his 
London chambers, ostensibly reading, for he had a 
yellow-covered book in his hand as it hung down 
by his side, and his finger was between the leaves, 
but his real ocupation seemed to be watching the 
smoke of his cigar as it floated in fragrant rings of 
blue mist over his head. 

A very handsome man undeniably, and one who 
evidently knew his beauty and its power. No 
coquette’s toilet could have been more artistic or 
more cleverly arranged for effect than his. Dainty 
slippers and silken hose shod his shapely feet ; a 
picturesque dreSvSing-gown, gray, with crimson sash, 
and silk lining of the same brilliant color, envel- 
oped his graceful form ; his hands, white and soft, 
and singularly small, yet strong as a man’s should 
be, were guiltless of rings. Their owner knew 
that, in the case of hands, “ beauty unadorned is 
adorned the best.” 

Yet, looking at Mr. St. John’s face, a physiog- 
nomist would have said that he was something 
more than the curled darling ” he seemed. There 

[17.1 



i8 


Yet She Loved Him. 


was a good deal of cleverness in those handsome 
features, and perhaps some craft and some weak- 
ness. Those who knew him succumbed to the 
charm of his manner ; a gay, good humor always 
characterized him ; and when those who had known 
him would know him no longer, they still said of 
him that he was a deucedly pleasant fellow, if a 
dangerous one. 

He smoked luxuriously for some time, and then 
stretched forth his hands for a packet of letters 
which lay on a table near ; they had been brought 
in some time during the day, but he had been too 
indolent to open them. 

They were not tempting-looking epistles, prom- 
ising pleasant gossip, but for the most part blue en- 
veloped, and suggestive of bills. A few square 
covers daintily addressed ought to have had a bet- 
ter fate than to have lain so long un welcomed. 
One among them he opened first, and began to 
read. 

“ Little Madge beginning to lose patience,” he 
muttered. “ Fools women are.” As he came to this 
conclusion, the door opened, and a servant, evi- 
dently a son of Erin, entered, saying hurriedly : 

“ There ’s a lady to see you, sir — Lady Margaret 
St. John, she says.” 

Lawrence gave a low whistle. 

“The devil!” he exclaimed. And when Madge 
entered the room, beaming, forgetting everything 
in the joy of seeing the man she loved so dearly, 
there was a great deal more of dismay than of 
pleasure in his greeting. 


Yet She Loved Him, 


^9 


Madge flew toward him when she saw him and 
threw herself in his arms, half-laughing, half-cry- 
ing, before he had made a step toward her. 

“ Really, Madge, this is most unexpected ! What 
can it mean ?” 

Madge’s affectionate nature was quick to see the 
coolness of this welcome, and, drawing herself up, 
wounded to the quick, she said : 

‘‘ This means that I have left all to come to my 
husband. My father has found out that I loved you, 
and he told me some dreadful things about you, 
which, of course, I don ’t believe, but as I could not 
promise never to see you again, I came away last 
night, and it seems now as if you hardly want me.” 

Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled at the sup- 
pOvSition. 

Why, yes, my dearest, I ’m delighted, I ’m sure, 
only you see I am so surprised.” And then, with- 
out thinking she must need rest and refreshment 
after her long journey, he made her relate every- 
thing that had happened, and when she had done 
so, he said, impatiently : “ So your father did not 
find out about our marriage ? Why did you act so 
hastily ? If you had had a little patience it would 
have been better.” 

“Yes,” said Madge, swallowing her tears. “ I see 
it would. Can I have a cup of tea, please ?” 

“ Oh, yes, of course. I forgot.” 

He rang the bell and ordered Terry to get some 
tea ; but the man, more thoughtful than himself, 
knowing more than his master thought of the state 
of affairs, had already anticipated the lady’s need 


20 


Yet She Loved Him, 


and brought in a dainty meal of cold chicken, Peri- 
gord pie, delicate rolls and tea. It was plain Mr. 
St. John’s larder was well supplied, but poor Madge, 
who had expected to be received with some of the 
rapture her husband had ever shown at those stolen 
meetings in the park at Ballyreen, was chilled to 
the heart, and left all the dainty food untouched, 
taking only a cup of tea. 

“ You see, Madge,” said her husband, feeling, 
perhaps, that his welcome was not just what might 
be expected. “You see, I’m in a devil of a fix. 
I ’ve no money, and I can ’t have you knocking about 
in lodgings.” 

He came and sat down beside her, and she, poor, 
weary girl, who had never known what it was to 
travel witout her father or Laura, leaned her head 
on the breast which she felt so sure was a harbor of 
refuge for her, but which she now began to doubt. 
Yet when he caressed her and told her his concern 
for her alone had caused his coolness, her old buoy- 
ancy returned, and she would not doubt him. 

Lawrence was one of those peculiar, but not rare, 
persons who, having no money, seem to live more 
luxuriously than those who have a moderate in- 
come ; thus, although he had not five pounds in the 
world when his wife came, he determined to go out 
and look for a charming little furnished house and 
seek a maid to attend Lady Margaret ; for he re- 
flected, as he had married Madge for her wealth, it 
was of no use to treat her so as to drive her back to 
her father and thus lose all chance of it, and so he 
changed his manner, tenderly bade her lie down on 


his bed in the inner room and rest, while he went 
out to make arrangements for her comfort. 

This Madge now did, for she was tired ; and 
Lawrence, calling Terry to help him, dressed him- 
self and went out, carefully locking away the letters, 
that were still lying on the table, before he did so. 
There were certain of those square enveloped billets 
that must not meet the eye of his wife. 

Madge believed she would not sleep for excite- 
ment; but she had not lain down many minutes 
when she lost consciousness and slept soundly. 

She was roused by loud tones in the next room — 
the tones of a woman and Terry’s whispered ex- 
postulations — whispered in the loud, ear-piercing 
whisper which is so distinct. He was evidently ex- 
cited,' and his Irish brogue, so carefully smothered 
usually, came out richly now. 

“ Arrah, thin, and whin I tell you you cannot 
see the capt’in — he ’s out — won’t ye take no for an 
answer?” 

I tell you I ’ll wait. I wrote to Captain St. John 
to tell him that if he did not come to me I should 
come to him, and here I am.” 

The voice was young but uncultivated, and Madge 
could distinguish the rustle of a stiff silk dress. 

She rose upon the bed in astonishment. At first 
she could hardly remember where she was ; then 
her husband’s name recalled her. She heard Terry 
answer, in an agony of anxiety that she might not 
hear : 

‘‘ But you can’t stay here, ma’am, for there ’s a lady 
here, sleeping in the next room ! Poor young lady !” 


22 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ ‘ Lady !’ ” cried the woman, angrily. “ Then 
I ’m going in to see about that ! What do you mean 
by trying to stop me? / am Captain St. John’s 
wife !” 

“ You ean’t go,” vSaid Terry, planting himself in 
the woman’s way. “Ye shall not go in that room, 
I tell yez ! For that ’s a born lady in there ?” 

“ ‘ A born lady !’ And ain’t I a lady, fellow?” 

At this moment poor, bewildered Madge could 
hear the outer door open, and in a moment her hus- 
band’s voice. There was no mistaking the conster- 
nation of his tone as he exelaimed : 

“ What — Cieely !” Then, remembering his wife’s 
proximity, he said, in a lower tone : “ How the 

deuce did you eome here ? What business had you 
to leave America?” 

“ I came after you ! I am your wife, and — ” 

“ Hush — hush !” he exelaimed. Then, going near 
the woman, he said, whispering : “ For goodness’ 

sake hold your tongue ! You will ruin me, and 
yourself, too, if you have not already ! Go out now ; 
walk on slowly, and I ’ll follow and explain. You 
must help me, and your fortune ’s made as well as 
mine. I swear I ’ll come. You may depend on it, 
for I dare not have you here again.” 

These low-toned sentenees Lady Madge did not 
hear, but she guessed a whispered conference was 
taking plaee, and then she heard St. John approach 
the door. 

Her first instinct was to hide the terrible knowl- 
edge that had come to her. She could not face her 
husband at this moment ; she must have time to 


Yet She Loved Him. 


23 


think. Oh, that she might never see him more ! 
She lay down on the pillow, from which she had 
partly risen, and buried her head in it. St. John 
lifted the portiere that masked the door and looked 
in. She was apparently sleeping. He breathed 
freely. She had heard nothing. 

He returned to the other room, from which the 
woman Cicely had gone, and opening an escritoire 
he took from it a tiny box and opened it. A gor- 
geous ring lay within it — a serpent, whose head was 
made of emeralds, with diamond eyes. He took it 
from the box and looked at it with a sinister smile. 

I thought this bauble would be a handy thing to 
have if she ever became dangerous. Let me see the 
secret of it over again.” 

He took a thin, folded paper that had lain under 
the ring, and opening it, read in Spanish : 

“ On pressing the diamond forming the right eye, looking at 
it from the front, the tongue is thrust out; on pressing both eyes, 
the tongue ejects its venom.” 

“ Now, the venom has to be taken on trust. I 
can’t make a journey to Brazil to get a fresh supply 
if once discharged, but I can see how the tongue 
business works.” 

He turned the head of the ring toward him and 
pressed the small diamond on the right. A tiny, 
arrow tongue sprang out of the mouth ; it was not 
thicker than a needle. On removing the pressure 
it flew back, and the ring appeared a mere costly 
bauble. 

St. John put it in his pocket and rang for Terry, 
whom he told to make Lady Margaret St. John com- 


24 


Yet She Loved Him. 


fortable and tell her that she had been sleeping so 
comfortably on his return he had not disturbed her, 
and to tell her also to take dinner without him, as 
he had to go and settle about their house. 

Terry looked after him as he left the house. 

“ Bad cess to yez for a villain !” he muttered. 
“ And to think an honest b’y like meself, as was 
body-servant to the Jook av Queenston’s second 
cousin, should come to serve the likes o’ yez and 
that swate craythur beyont ! Ach, but it ’s messilf 
’d like to tell her some av the things I know.” 

Many of Mr. St. John’s elegant associates won- 
dered why he had brought an Irish valet with him 
and laughed at him for his importation.” He had 
told them : “The fellow was so deuced amusing, it 
was like having a comic opera to oneself.” But his 
real reason was because he changed valets very 
often, and as they generally went away without 
their wages he was beginning to find it difficult to 
replace them. He was not in good odor with the 
fraternity in London, Terry, then, who, notwith- 
standing his brogue, was an accomplished servant, 
seemed a very good investment, for Mr. St. John 
well knew that he would be less exacting about 
prompt payment of wages than a London valet. 
He little supposed a valet, especially an Irish one, 
who ought to be grateful to a London fine gentle- 
man for engaging him at all, would dare to act the 
censor ! 



CHAPTER III. 

Directly Madge Tieard her husband leave the 
house she started up. 

She had but one thought. She must get away 
somewhere — anywhere away from this. 

She had not a friend in this great city of London 
— not one ! Numberless acquaintances — not one 
friend to whom, having left her father’s house, she 
dare apply. 

She flung on her bonnet and pelisse. Fortunately, 
although rich, they were the plainest her wardrobe 
contained, and then she went into the outer room. 
She meant to leave the house without a word ; but 
Terry was putting away St. John’s belongings, and 
when he saw Lady Madge’s white, agonized face, 
he hastened to deliver the message Captain St. John 
had left for her. 

There was a ring of sympathy in his voice, or 
was it because the words were uttered in the soft 
accent so dear to her Irish heart ? Be what it may, 
her lips trembled as she said falteringly : 

“ Tell — tell Mr. St. John I heard all. He will un- 
derstand.” 


[25] 



26 


Yet She Loved Him, 


Terence looked at her with troubled eyes. He 
wanted to testify his sympathy, yet dared not. If 
she had been poor Cicely, he could have done it, 
but the nameless prestige of high race was about 
her and tied his tongue. He knew nothing of the 
magnetism that tells us without words when a 
friendly heart is near, nor did Madge stop to ask 
herself why it suddenly seemed to her this man 
could help her in her sore strait. But he was from 
her own country. That alone was something. vShe 
asked him : 

“ Can you tell me of any respectable, quiet hotel 
at which I can stop — till — till I can hear from my 
friends ?” 

“ Ah, your ladyship, if ye ’ll let the likes av me 
go wid yez, I ’ll take yez to a better place than a 
hotel for a lady — an illegant lodgin’ wid a dacint 
widow.” 

“ Yes, Terry. I will be thankful. I am in great 
trouble, as, of course, you see, and I know no one in 
London.” 

“ Arrah, thin, if there’s anythin’ Terence McCarthy 
can do for yez, me lady, he’ll do it, and say niver a 
word about it ; and, me lady, don’t you believe what 
that person said. There ’s many a one calls them- 
self a wife who is not.” 

Lady Madge knew her own warm-hearted, impul- 
sive race well, and there was more comfort in the 
knowledge that she had this humble friend than she 
had hoped for in her desolation. 

Terry called a cab. Lady Madge entered it, and 
then he got on the box with the driver. 


27 


Yet She Loved HimJ 


Once in the cab, the wretched girl gave way and 
wept bitterly. Ah, how dearly was she paying for 
for her ingratitude to her good father ! How little 
she knew that this was but the beginning of her 
Expiation ! 

She trusted entirely to this humble friend. She 
knew not what his idea of an “ illigant lodgin’ ” 
might be, but she wanted only shelter ; that she 
would be thankful for — she, the tenderly nurtured 
Lady Madge ! 

The cab drew up before a gloomy-looking house 
in Mecklenburgh Square, and Terrence, jumping 
down from the box, put his head in the window and 
said : 

“ Excuse me, me lady, but London ’s a quare 
place. Perhaps yez ’d like me to say Mrs. St John?” 

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Terry !” she 'said, 
appreciating the tact of the man. “ Please say Miss 
Doyle. I don’t want Captain St. John to know 
where I am,” 

Terry touched his hat and rang the bell and en- 
tered the house. He came out in a minute and 
threw open the cab door as if it had been an ele- 
gant landau equipage, and Lady Madge stepped out 
and into the house. The hall was wide and cheer- 
ful, with an air of substantial comfort, and she was 
received by the landlady, Mrs. Mooney, with a 
markedly respectful manner. Accustomed to that 
from her birth, she little guessed how different her 
reception would have been, unheralded by Terry ; 
but he had given a glowing account of the splen- 
dors of the family to which she belonged, and she 


28 


Yet She Loved Him. 


so obviously a lady, that the plausible story was un- 
questioned. 

Lady Madge, once her rooms were decided on, 
thanked Terry and offered him a sovereign, which 
the honest fellow took respectfully ; and when he 
got outside he spat on it and put it in his pocket. 

“ Stay there for luck, or till she wants it. Maybe, 
if things is as I think, it won’t be long.” 

Worn out with what she had gone through, 
Madge laid her aching head on the bed, but not to 
sleep. How could she sleep, this deluded girl, who 
was married, yet no wife? Oh, the horror of it! 
The disgrace ! That thought swallowed up even 
her anger against the villain who had so deceived 
her. She blamed only herself. And the love she 
had had for him — could it all have died away in 
these few hours ! Alas, it had been a romantic 
fancy, based on the imaginary virtues of her hero. 
Had he possessed them she would have loved 
always with all the ardor of a first passion ; but he 
was not the man she loved, and the scales fell from 
her eyes. And she saw herself an outcast, a dis- 
grace to her name. But Terry might have spoken 
truthfully. That girl might have asserted a claim 
to which she had no right. 

The next day she wrote, as she had promised to 
do, to Laura ; and instead of having to tell of the 
rapturous happiness of her honeymoon, her story 
was one of heartrending regret. Inclosed in this 
letter was one for her father, imploring his pardon, 
telling nothing of her grief, but promising, if only 
assured of his forgiveness, she would never vex. him 


Yet She Loved Him. 


29 


by her presence, never recall herself to his mem- 
ory — a most pathetic letter, that, had it reached 
its destination, had surely touched the father’s 
heart. 

Laura had promised to act as mediator and to 
let Madge know when her father should show signs 
of relenting, and the unfortunate girl now sent the 
letter to her care, asking her to choose the auspi- 
cious moment for presenting it. 

The letter once sent, she had nothing to do but 
fold her hands and wait, and the four walls of her 
rooms became intolerable to her, with her weary 
thoughts ; and the future held nothing for her — not 
a glimpse of hope. Her father’s pardon she waited 
for, and if it came, what then ? On one thing she 
was resolved — she would never drag her name in 
the dust. As Miss Doyle she would pass through*^ 
the world without remark, and she would be Lady 
Margaret Doyle for no one. Her place should know 
her no more. She carefully muffled herself up, and 
with a gossamer veil drawn over her face, went 
into the park, choosing the secluded walks, where 
she was unlikely to meet with any one who might 
have known her in former days. But motion, 
activity of some kind, helped to wear away the time 
and was an antidote to her terrible mental dis- 
tress, and thus she walked and walked, till ready to 
drop with fatigue. 

Several days had elapsed, enough time for an 
answer to her letter, and none had come. Her 
father then would not forgive her. Almost crazed 
with the despair that filled her mind, she sallied 


30 


Yet She Loved Him. 


forth to walk resolutely to drown thought, caring 
not whither she went. 

She drifted on, mechanically taking the direction 
of the park, until she reached the marble arch, from 
which several groups of equestrians were coming 
forth, for it was approaching the hour for luncheon, 
but she saw nothing; saw not her danger, even 
when a lady-rider, whose horse was evidently un- 
manageable, came madly toward her. She heard 
the cries of warning, but did not heed or think of 
them as connected with herself, till she suddenly 
felt her arm pulled violently, dragging her off her 
feet, and then a concussion, as of an immense mass 
thrown with frightful impetus against her, throw- 
ing her to the ground. She just remembered seeing 
a man’s white face, with eyes full of agony bent 
over her, heard her name uttered in tones of wild 
distress, and knew no more. 

The man who had dragged her from beneath the 
feet of the horse called in frenzied tones for a 
doctor, as he carried her in the park lodge, and 
there he clasped her little white hands and called 
her by every endeavoring epithet ; for John Lorri- 
mer loved this beautiful girl as a man loves only 
once in his life. To have longed for her, thought 
of her day and night for months, seen her face in 
everything and now have her before him, dead, 
may be ! Fate was too cruel ! But the doctor came 
and told him she was not dead, and perhaps but 
slightly injured, yet, that it was best to get her to 
some quiet place before she came to herself, as 
there might be internal injury or she might suffer 


Yet She Loved Him. 


3T 


from the shock to her nervous system ; he feared 
the latter. A cab was sent for, and then they were 
driven to the nearest hotel. 

The doctor looked surprised as the address was 
given, and seeing the look, Lorrimer remarked, 
with some embarrassment, that the lady must be 
only visiting the city, as he knew her family lived 
out of town. 

The doctor scented mystery, but said nothing. 
When they reached the hotel, restoratives were ad- 
ministered, and then the lovely violet eyes opened 
for a moment, looked vaguely at the doctor and 
chambermaid and then closed again. He then ex- 
amined her more thoroughly than he had as yet 
been able to do ; and, enjoining the chambermaid - 
to remain till he sent a nurse, he rejoined Lorrimer 
below. 

“ How is she ?” the latter asked anxiously. 

“ She is suffering from shock ; all she needs, how- 
ever, is absolute rest and quiet. I have an appoint- 
ment which I must keep, therefore I must leave 
now, but I will return in a couple of hours. Mean- 
while, can you hunt up a nurse ?” 

“ Certainly !” said Lorrimer, who, if he could not 
be with Madge, was eager to do something in her 
service. 

The doctor hastily wrote some addresses, handed 
them to him, and he started on his errand. 

* .-x- * * * * 

Poor Lady Madge’s evil fate had pursued her, 
even now that she was under the protection of the 
man who would have given his life for her. As she 


32 


Yef She Loved Him. 


was being carried from the carriage to the hotel, her 
pale face, like a crushed lily, supported on Lorri- 
mer’s shoulder, her long, sunny hair like a shower 
of burnished gold sweeping over his sleeve and 
down to his knees, a gentleman, attracted by that 
golden gleam, stopped to look, muttering as he 
did so : 

“ An accident ! Must be an awfully pretty woman 
with such hair !” Then he started, a glance of 
triumph lighted up his face as he looked on the pale 
countenance. ‘‘ Madge, by all that’s lucky !” 

It was St. John, who, since her disappearance, had 
been seeking her everywhere vainly, and had been 
cursing his fate ever since and was even now on his 
way to see a detective about the matter, when here, 
in his very path, was his unhappy victim. She was 
just disappearing within the portals as he recog- 
nized her, and so absorbed was he in the joy of his 
discovery that he paid no attention to Lorrimer, 
whose back was toward him, believing that she 
must have been succored by strangers. He stood a 
moment irresolute. Should he go in at once and 
claim his wife? First he would learn what the ac- 
cident was and then decide. He addressed the cab- 
man. 

“ I think that lady is a friend of mine. Is she 
much hurt ?” he asked. 

“ Don’t think so, sir. She was knocked down by a 
runaway ’oss. She’s pretty bad, but np bones broke, 

I ’eard the doctor say.” 

St. John thought rapidly. If he took her away 
right now, he would have to take her to his chain- 


SHE FELT HEK AKM PULLED VIOLENTLY, ScC PctgC 30, 









33 




Yet She Loved Him. 


bers or elsewhere, while he arranged to leave Eng- 
land with her. She was now safely hoUvSed for half 
an hour. He had time to drive to his rooms, order 
Terry to meet him at Victoria Station, then rush off 
to get money from somewhere, for he had not a 
pound in his pocket, and if he had luck return and 
claim his wife. If the money could not be raised, 
he could do no better than establish himself with 
her in the hotel, though he knew the immense dif- 
ficulty of controlling her in any hotel. His resolve 
taken, he sprang into a hansom. 

“ Drive for your life !” he cried, as he gave the 
address ; and, knowing that meant an extra fare, 
the man whipped up his horse and rattled off. 

In less than an hour Lorrimer returned with a 
nurse, and heard with despair that the injured lady 
had been taken away by her husband. 




CHAPTER IV. 

St. John had left his chambers in terrible anx- 
iety. The advent of poor, ill-used Cicely was de- 
cidedly inconvenient. He hated scenes, and knew 
he had one to encounter ; and, besides, to rid him- 
self of her he. had to run a fearful risk. 

He overtook her at Regent’s Circus and, refusing 
to notice her tearstained, passionate face, he hailed 
a cab and, hurrying her into it, he followed her, and 
said briefly and sternly : 

“ Where are you staying ?” 

At my old lodgings. Not a very fit place for 
Captain St. John’s wife, but I can’t choose. I have 
little money, and was not sure you were in Eng- 
land.” 

“ Why the devil did you come after me ? I told 
you never to do it ! What if my uncle had been 
there ?” 

(Captain St. John’s uncle was a relative invented 
expressly for Cicely.) 

“ Look here, Larry, I won’t stand this any longer ! 
I ’m your wife, and I ’m going to have people know 
it !” 


[34] 


Yet She Loved Him, 


35 


She turned her brilliant eyes — sometimes so ten- 
der for this man, now full of fierce anger — upon 
him. 

“ You ’ve fooled me long enough,” she continued. 
“ You have been so mightily afraid that I should 
turn up at the wrong time that you left me in 
America, and I believe now you meant to desert 
me, but I will not be treated so, and hold my tongue, 
so I came home, but even then I did not want to 
interfere with your plans. I wrote you yesterday I 
had come, and you neither answered nor came, so I 
went to your rooms to see about you.” 

St. John remembered now his unopened letters, 
and cursed his folly in neglecting them. But he 
well knew his power over the passionate, uncon- 
trolled nature of the woman beside him, and re- 
solved to resort to blandishments to appease her. 

“ Yes, but you might have made an infernal mess 
of matters ! However, as it happens, it ’s all 
right !” 

“ Yes,” she said, with suppressed anger, “ it 
may be for you,' but who is that other woman you 
have there, where / ought to be ?” 

Her eyes flashed angrily as she asked the ques- 
tion. 

“ Ah ! Are you jealous, little Cicely ?” he asked, 
in the old caressing tone she knew so well, and 
which had always such power over her. “ Well, I 
will tell you who that is — she is a lady of rank 
whom my uncle has brought to town, and she is 
resting while he is away.” 

“ Your uncle brought her ? Why, the man said 


Yet She Loved Him. 


6 


she was a young lady. Do young ladies go about 
so?’' she asked. 

“Oh, she is my uncle’s ward,” said Lawrence, 
lying glibly, “ and very rich, and as ugly as sin, and 
he wishes me to marry her. Don’t be silly !” he 
said, as she started. “ Do you think if she had had 
any interest for me I should have been out when 
you came ? The fact is, I have given up my cham- 
bers to her use.” 

Cicely knew too little of the habits of people in 
good society to .see the discrepancies of his state- 
ment, and knowing this, he had dared make it. 
With a sigh, she accepted it, and thrilled with de- 
light when he said : 

“ After all, dear, it is good to have you here, right 
in London, where I can see you as often as I want.” 

“ Is it, Lawrence ? Do you really mean it?” 

“ I do. I was awfully sorry not to get back to 
New York, as I promised. We used to have our 
little disagreements, but I ’m sobering down now, 
and I ’ve missed you awfully, you know, lately.” 
His treacherous arm went round 'her waist as he 
spoke. “ You haven’t kissed me yet. Cicely.” And 
poor Cicely turned, with eyes full of glad tears, 
to kiss the villain, who was caressing her into se- 
curity in order to compass her destruction. 

Before long the driver turned into the Belgrave 
road, Pimlico, and St. John said : 

“ I haven’t dined. Suppose we order some .sup- 
per to be sent to your lodgings ?” 

Cicely was delighted. She was fond of good 
cheer, and then to have it with her husband was a 


Yet She Loved Him. 


37 


great treat. They stopped at one of the numerous 
shops devoted to shell-fish and ordered lobster- 
salad, at a grocer’s for champagne and then at a 
famous caterer’s for a pheasant and all the other 
etceteras to an excellent supper. Cicely lodged in 
a quiet street, just off Victoria Station, and in a 
short time husband and wife were seated gayly at 
the well-spread table. Cicely had partaken freely 
of the salad and champagne, and was very lively. 
When St. John saw that she was thoroughly reas- 
sured, he said ; 

“ Now, dearest, I am going to make you thor- 
oughly ashamed of yourself. You accuse me of for- 
getting you, when in truth I have thought of you, 
and had a present which I was keeping to give you 
when I should see you.” 

He took from his pocket, as he spoke, a little box 
— not an ordinary jeweler’s box, which betrays its 
contents at once — but one of strangely carved 
wood. 

Cicely’s eyes glistened with curiosity. 

“ Now drink up your wine, and I will show it 
you.” 

Cicely drank her glass of champagne, which St. 
John had filled much oftener than she guessed, and 
then turned eagerly to him. 

He opened the bo^J and kept it in his hand, while 
she uttered a low cry of admiration on seeing the 
ring. 

“ How beautiful ! Is that for me ? Oh, you do 
love your poor Cicely, after all !” ^ 

“ Of course I do. Now this is far too valuable a 


38 


Yet She Loved Him. 


thing to be knocking about in this sort of a house. 
Where will you keep it?” 

“ In my desk.” 

“ Let me see it. The lock may not be safe.” 

Cicely got her desk and opened it on the table. 
She was excited, happy and, it must be confessed, 
a good deal the worse for the wine he had taken. 

What have you in that ? All your treasure ?” he 
asked carelessly, but his eyes dived eagerly into it ; 
he was looking for something among those papers. 
“ Any love letters, eh ? he asked, fumbling among 
them. 

“ No, there is nothing important, but it is the 
safest place for the ring. I can lock the desk in 
my trunk.” 

“Nothing important, eh? Well, there is one 
thing very important that for your own sake you 
ought to have in a safe place : Your marriage 
certificate.” 

She looked startled ; she was dazed by the wine, 
but she remembered how often he had tried to get 
that from her, and how she had clung to it ; for a 
moment the allusion to it almost sobered her. 

“ I — I — lost it,” she stammered. 

“ Lost it! How?” he asked the question eagerly. 

“I fear I must have destroyed it in mistake for 
another paper. I think so.* Oh, Lawrence, you 
won’t take advantage of that to deny our marriage, 
will you ?” * 

“ I ? Nonsense, of course not ! I always knew 
jou were too careless, and wished to take care of it 
for you. Never mind, we can get a copy. Look 1 


Yet She Loved Him. 


39 


You have only seen the beauty, not the wonders of 
your ring.” 

He still had it in his hand. He held it toward 
her, and said : 

“ Look, the tongue springs out, and gives a tiny 
sting on pressing this diamond.” 

Cicely took the deadly bauble in her hand and 
laughed with delight at the trick. 

“ Will it really sting?” 

“ Just a prick, enough to carry out the idea. Do 
you want to be stung?” 

She held her hand, and he put the tiny emerald 
head between her two fingers where the skin was 
tender, and pressed both the diamonds. 

Cicely uttered a startled little cry : 

“ Indeed it does ! Just like a leech,” she said. 
“ What a horrible idea.” She gave a little shudder, 
and took the terrible ring and placed it on her 
finger. 

“ Take care of it. Cicely,” he said, as she looked 
at it with delighted eyes — she had never yet had 
anything so valuable. 

St. John sat with his wife for some time longer, 
then rose to go, telling Cicely directly his uncle was 
out of town he would find a nice little home for her, 
and they would live as happily as two birds. He 
dared not stay to-night, for he had an appointment 
with his exacting relative, and Cicely let him de- 
part with a sigh and a kiss and a promise from him 
that he would see her next day. 

Next day ! What was next day to be for that un- 
happy girl? 


40 


Yei She Loved Him, 


When St. John left it was eight o’clock. He got 
into a hansom cab and drove back to his chambers. 
Madge might be impatient, and his policy was 
clearly to conciliate her. It was of no use to kill the 
goose with the golden eggs. He looked at his watch. 

“ If that old fellow did not deceive me, it will 
occur within twelve hours, and all will be over to- 
morrow at this hour, and that nightmare gone. 

Lawrence St. John heard with angry amazement 
of Madge’s departure. She gone, his hopes of her 
money went, too. He determined to find her, and 
at once set every agency to work to do so. Once 
found, he knew his power over women, and did not 
doubt he could persuade Madge into believing him 
when he told her that what she had heard repre- 
sented an early entanglement, and that when he 
married her he was free, and that he would thus 
induce her to live with him. His own idea was 
that, ashamed to go back to her father, she had gone 
to Dublin,where she had many friends. 

It was with terrible relufctance St. John forced 
himself to go to Cicely’s lodgings next night and to 
ask for Mrs. Varley, the name by which both were 
known. 

He was told she was dead, 'and feigned to be par- 
alyzed with horror when he heard it. She had died 
very suddenly of heart disease, and had made a re- 
quest that all her belongings might be sent to her 
sister in the country, whose address she had given 
to the landlady. 

She had not asked for him. For one moment the 
callous heart smote him. He knew then she had 


Yet She Loved Him. 


41 


guessed something of the truth — knew she was poi- 
soned — perhaps not the manner of it — but she had 
not betrayed him. He quickly recovered himself, 
however, told the landlady he would pay all ex- 
penses of funeral, doctor and any outlay she might 
have incurred. He begged her to be good enough 
to see to everything, and hinted that Mrs. Varley 
had no claim on him more than on any others, but 
that he wished to show her every respect and would 
gather her property together and have it sent to 
her sister. He was so free with small cash that he 
won golden opinions in the house, and then went 
back to his own world, unsuspected, but far from at 
ease ; for in the search he had made the serpent ring 
was nowhere to be found ! 

As days went on,- other matters began to make 
him uneasy, too. Madge was yet unfound. Lord 
Ferrars was very ill, the papers said, and strange 
rumors were afloat about Miss Perceval. And then, 
as he was cursing his ill-luck, and almost believing 
that the stake h.6 had played for was lost, he had 
seen that crowd in the street, had been attracted by 
a wealth of golden hair and found, right there, in 
his power. Lady Madge ! 

As we have seen, to use that power, to get her 
once more into his possession, was the work of a 
very short time ; and now he determined he would 
never lose her again, even if he had to keep her by 
force. 



CHAPTER V. 

John Lorrimer was a young American, who was 
visiting Lord Ferrars at the same time as St. John 
They had known each other slightly before going 
to Ballyreen, and Lorrimer knew he was no fit man 
to be near Lady Margaret, and before many weeks 
had passed that knowledge had become agony to 
him. He loved the beautiful girl, and saw that the 
specious villain was winning the heart he would 
have given his life to gain. And he could do noth- 
ing ! Honor forbade him to warn Lord Ferrars; 
and, unable to bear the pain of seeing the sweet 
wild bird he adored falling a prey to her ensnarer, 
he left, but not before he had ventured to speak to 
Laura Perceval of St. John’s schemes. She, how- 
ever, laughed at his fears and assured him Lady 
Madge was in no danger whatever. 

[42] 


Yet She Loved Him, 


43 


He could do no more, and was forced to go away., 
knowing he was leaving the woman he loved in 
danger. He went to London, tried to forget her, 
and imagined he was getting over his folly. Never- 
theless, he searched the society papers diligently 
for any chance of seeing her name ; and when 
months went by, and he heard of vSt. John as being 
with his regiment at the Curragh of Kildare, of 
Lord Ferrars being at Melford and Lady Margaret 
Doyle being at the Exeter Hunt ball, he began to 
hope Laura Perceval had been right and that he 
had feared unnecessarily ; and then he allowed a 
wild hope to take possession of him : If she did not 
love St. John, he might win her ! His family was 
one of the oldest in America, and his wealth very 
great ; he might hope then Lord Ferrars would give 
his daughter to him, if he only could make her love 
him. And he was preparing to go to Exeter, to be, 
at least, near her, when there came a whisper in 
the clubs that Lord Ferrars’s beautiful heiress had 
left her home — some said eloped, others that she 
had secretly married Captain St. John. Actual 
truth no one seemed to know ; and beyond the fact 
that she had really left her father’s house suddenly 
and that Lord Ferrars was ill in consequence, he 
could by most diligent inquiry learn nothing. 

He resolved then to go to Exeter, from which 
Melford was but a few miles distant, and see for 
himself. He knew now that the love he believed 
he had crushed was a giant he could never lay. 
Without Lady Madge his life would be a burden, 
but at least he could consecrate it to her ; well he 


44 


Yet She Loved Him. 


knew if she had indeed married St. John and of- 
fended her father, her days would be full of trouble ; 
she might need a friend, and for this he must know 
more about her. And then the very day he had 
resolved to start for Devonshire, he saw her about 
to enter the park — alone, unaccompanied, she who 
never had moved without attendance ! What could 
it mean ? And then barely had his mind conceived 
the question, than he saw her deadly peril ; he had 
been hastening toward her, but the park railings 
yet intervened, and that horse was plunging for- 
ward ; another moment and it would be over her, 
crushing her to death ! How he rescued her the 
reader already knows, i/^ 

What a whirlwind of hopes and fears ran through 
his brain as he hastened for the nurse ; he began 
to suspect she was in dire trouble. The hopeless 
look in her face, her perfect oblivion of surround- 
ings which led to the accident, all pointed to some 
unknown calamity ; it was not the face of a happy 
bride. 

If she was in trouble she should at least have a 
friend ; he would consecrate his life to her and be 
to her as a brother. It was a delight to him now to 
think she would depend on him, even for a few days. 
And then, when full of tender concern for his love’s 
condition, he reached the hotel and found her gone, 
his heart sank. Her husband? Then she was 
married, and he had no right to think her unhappy, 
and yet, and yet, hers was not the radiant face of a 
happy wife ! He dismissed the nurse, left a mes- 
sage for the doctor, and then, scarce master of 


Yet She Loved Him. 


45 


himself, he left. SJie was married^ that was now 
certainty*"^ and he was disgusted with life, with 
everything. He hated England now. He looked 
at his watch ; it was not three, he might catch the 
tidal train for the continent yet. He drove to his 
lodgings and, packing hastily, started for Paris. 

* -jf * * * 

Meanwhile the unhappy girl had fallen into the 
clutches of her worst enemy. St. John had found, 
on entering the room in the hotel, that she was still 
in a stupor. Telling the chambermaid he was her 
husband, he wrapped her in a shawl and carried 
her down to the cab he had in waiting, and then 
drove with her to Victoria Station, where Terry had 
been ordered to meet him. He had taken a state- 
room in the Pullman car and had provided himself 
with chloroform in case Lady Madge should resist 
going with him. He wanted to avoid any scandal, 
but it seemed as if force would not be necessary, for 
Madge was still unconscious when he reached the 
station. There he found Terry, to whom he had 
told nothing more than that he was going to Paris. 
Of Madge, not a word. And when the honest fel- 
low was summoned to the cab and saw whom he 
was to assist out, he felt much inclined to refuse ; 
but to do that was to leave the helpless girl without 
one friend, and he might yet be able to help her. 
Just as St. John was bending over her to carry her 
out of the cab the great eyes opened and Madge saw 
her husband. A look of terror came into her eyes 
and she began to struggle ; but St. John was ready. 
A small sponge hidden in his handkerchief was 


46 


Yet She Loved Him. 


pressed to her nostrils, under pretense to Terry of 
reviving her, and she was again quiet. He carried 
her then to the Pullman car, followed by many 
sympathizing eyes, for the poor lady seemed so very 
sick to travel. Among those eyes was one pair, 
however, which followed the couple with astonish- 
ment, then hastened after them. 

Could fate have led him here? John Lorrimer 
asked himself as he .saw St. John enter the Pullman 
car with Madge, followed by Terry, bearing rugs, 
umbrellas and hat-boxes. It was not starting-time 
for half an hour, and Lorrimer determined to wait 
till the last minute before getting into the car him- 
self. He must know more. What could impel 
St. John to take Lady Madge away in her present 
condition ? It seemed brutal, cruel. He saw Terry 
get out of the Pullman to take his place in the ordi- 
nary cab and decided to speak to him. 

“ That lady seems very ill?” he said. 

“ And indade she is, worse luck !” said Terry, 
heaving a great sigh. 

“ I am deeply interested, for I believe I once knew 
her.” 

Terry looked eagerly at him. He was almost 
afraid to confide in a stranger, and yet who could 
be worse than St. John ? 

“ Are you her friend ?” he asked eagerly. 

“ Indeed I am. Does she need one ?” 

The earnest, eager tone spoke volumes. 

“ That she does, if ever a woman did. An’ if she 
was in her sinses she ’d die rather than go with that 
man.” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


47 


Lorritner stopped to make no inquiries then. 
She was in danger — needed him. That was enough. 
His thoughts worked rapidly.. 

“ Can I count on you ?” he asked Terry. 

“ That ye can, sir.” 

“ Could you manage to get Captain St. John*’s 
pocketbook, purse, or any important thing from his 
pocket, then ask something that would make him 
discover his loss, do you think ? You see, I only 
want to get him away for a few minutes. You can 
drop it on the floor so that you may run no risk 
yourself, for if my plan succeeds he will seek and 
find it.” 

Terry looked troubled. It was a stupendous 
thing to do ; but he was very smart and very ten- 
der-hearted. Could he let the sweet lady go to a 
life of misery if he could prevent? No ! No ’ 

“ I ’ll try, sir.” 

“ Bravo ! Then we are all right, I hope.” 

Without an unnecessary word, Terry returned to 
the Pullman car, pretending he had forgotten some- 
thing, and found, luckily, that having disposed Lady 
Madge in her stateroom, in which the bed was made 
up. Captain St. John was washing himself in the 
toilet-room, for he had been rushing about and felt 
the need of ablution. His coat was off, and directly 
Terry appeared he directed him to brush it, and, of 
course, the valet seized the opportunity. When he 
handed the coat to his master the pocketbook was 
gone. 

“ Shall I get you the evening papers, sir ?” 

“ Yes ; and, by the by, I haven’t a cigar.” 


48 


Yet She Loved Him, 


He felt for his pocketbook to give the money, and 
discovered his loss. 

He searched every pocket, looked on the ground 
where the coat had been lying, and then, with a 
terrible oath, he dashed out of the car, calling, as 
h6 went, to Terry to lock the stateroom door. 

Lorrimer was on the watch, and said to the con- 
ductor that the gentleman had discovered a serious 
loss and must defer his journey, and had directed 
him to remove the lady. His statement passed un- 
questioned when the conductor saw him speak to 
Terry in an authoritative manner. Once in the car, 
Lorrimer said to Terry : 

“ Now, when I have got to the cab, you run after 
St. John with the pocketbook. He will be hunting 
about the station. Say you picked it up the minute 
after he left the car, and that will clear you for los- 
ing sight of the lady.” 

Five minutes later Lady Madge was safe in a cab 
with the man who loved her so well. He drove 
direct to the house of the doctor who had seen her 
after the accident — Doctor Watts — to whom he 
stated as much of the facts as he knew, believing 
he would be discreet and that mystery might be in- 
judicious. 

The good doctor entered into the situation ; had 
her put to bed in his house ; installed his house- 
keeper as nurse, telling Lorrimer there was scarcely 
a hope of her coming out of her present stupor ex- 
cept in a high fever. And he was right. There 
ensued many days of delirium, and from what the 
doctor told him of it, he feared the worst. She was 


Yet She Loved Him. 


49 


an unhappy wife, if wife at all, for she at times 
spoke of bein^ disgraced — deluded. Could it be 
that she had left home, seen her error when too 
late to avert scandal, yet not too late to be saved 
from marriage ? His heart leaped at the thought, 
but he dared not entertain it ; she must be lost to 
him. At last the fever had run its course. She 
was conscious, but too weak it seemed to be anxious 
about herself ; but there came a day when her in- 
terest in life returned, and she begged a messenger 
might be sent to Mecklenburg Square for letters for 
Miss Doyle. And the doctor, fearing to fret would 
injure her more than any news, allowed it, and Lor- 
rimer himself went to the address, explained the 
accident, thus accounting for her .sudden absence, 
and learned that several trunks had arrived for 
Miss Doyle, and a letter. 

When Lorrimer heard that .she was known only 
as Miss Doyle his perplexity was increased, but he 
asked no questions till she should herself explain. 

^ladge eagerly took the letter when the nurse 
brought it to her, but her face fell when she saw 
there was but one, and that from Laura, not from 
her father. She opened it and read it, her weak 
hands trembling as she did so. Alas, there* was no 
comfort in it ! Laura told her her father would not 
as yet hear her name mentioned, and that he had 
torn her letter across, unread, and thrown it on the 
fire. 

“ But courage, dearest. I am working for you, ready to seize 
the favorable moment. Send your letters for your father through 
me. Time works wonders, and all will soon be right for you. 


50 


Yet She Loved Him. 


He is now too angry to listen to reason. He insists on my re- 
taining my position, saying the house needs a lady, and for 
your sake, 'darling Madge, I slay.” 

This letter, as the doctor feared, threw Madge 
back again ; but youth conquered, and the day so 
wearily waited for by Lorrimer came at last and 
she was able to be brought into the sitting-room, 
where, propped by pillows, Lorrimer at last saw 
her ; so terribly changed that he could hardly be- 
lieve. six short months before .she had seemed al- 
most a child. His voice was broken by emotion as 
he took the thin little hand and saw the sweet, sad 
smile as she thanked him for all he had done. 

“You saved my life, Mr. Lorrimer.’’ 

“ Scarcely that, perhaps, but I am only thankful 
I was near to do any thing.'' 

She gained strength slowly after this, and as soon 
as possible returned to the lodgings from which she 
had seemed so mysteriouly to disappear ; and Lor- 
rimer, in his determination to watch over her, took 
lodgings on the other side the square, and from his 
window could see all who entered the house. He 
made a daily short visit on the plea of inquiring 
for her health, but the past was never alluded to 
betweeii them, and he was as utterly in the dark as 
ever. 

She had written to Laura, and had answers en- 
treating her still to have patience ; that she might 
jeopardize everything by precipitation, and that she 
would warn her when she saw sign of relenting ; 
and thus she was fain to possess her restless soul in 
patience. But she was now able to go out, and 


Yet She Loved Him. 


51 


the stronger she grew the more difficult did writing 
seem. 

One day, just after receiving a soothing letter 
from Laura, she picked up an old newspaper that 
had been dropped in the hall, and her eye fell on 
her father’s name : 

Lord Ferrars is recovering .rom his dangerous illness, and is 
now convalescent at Melford.” 

. Her father ill, and Laura did not tell her ? The 
paper was a fortnight old. How strange it was ! 
Yet, perhaps she had feared to add to her remorse. 
Yes, that must be it ! But, oh, she must see him, 
she must, if only at a distance ! One humble friend 
she had at Melford, a former nurse, who would 
shelter her and keep her presence a secret. To her 
she resolved to go. 





CHAPTER VI. 

Terry must have been a born actor, as so many 
of his countrymen are. He carried out his part of 
the programme admirably. He rushed along the 
platform and out of the gate, waving the pocket- 
book over his head. Many officious people were 
there to show him exactly where the gentleman 
was, who was so frantically seeking his portemonnaie^ 
but Terry wanted, while appearing to hasten, to 
gain time, and he rushed out of one room into 
another, and, at last, having made the tour of the 
station, reached St. John, waving the pocketbook 
triumphantly. The latter gave a great cry of relief 
as he saw him approach. 

“Where did you find it?” he asked, snatching it 
out of his hand. 

“ On the flure av the car, just as I went to lock 
the door,” panted Terry, wiping his brow. 

“ Did you lock the door?” asked Captain St. John. 

Terry clapped his hand to his forehead. 

“ Be jabbers ! Did I ? Be me sowl I can’t tell 
[ 52 -] 


Yet She Loved Hhn. 


53 


you, sir, I was in such a hurry when I saw it to rush 
after you. I — ” 

“ Idiot !” exclaimed the grateful captain, as he 
rushed once more back to the Pullman — telling 
himself as he did so, however, his fear must be 
groundless, for even if Madge had come out of her 
stupor in the few minutes that had elapsed since he 
left the car, she would not have been strong enough 
to leave it. He sped along, nevertheless, and 
reached the stateroom to find Lady Madge gone ! 

He started back, almost unable to believe his 
eyes, but search through the car proved useless. 

No thought of a plot or collusion entered his 
mind ; he believed Madge had recognized him, and 
only feigned to be overcome with the chloroform, 
and the moment she had found herself alone she 
had taken the opportunity to leave the car. She 
had, of course, been in her walking-clothes still, and 
would present no peculiar appearance to attract at- 
tention beyond a pallor which, however unnatural 
in her vivid face, might not strike a casual observer, 
and her loose, long hair, which no doubt she would 
hide. She could not be gone far, for a quarter of 
an hour only had elapsed since he went in search of 
his lost book. 

He stood a moment. The Brighton train was 
just in, crowds of people on the platform and every 
cab off the stand. So, if she had taken a cab there 
were no onfooking cabmen to ask. He qiiestioned 
one or two porters, who, however, passed hurriedly 
on, so busy were they, merely giving a curt “ No ” 
over their shoulders to his inquiries as to whether 


54 


Yet She Loved Him. 


they had observed a pale lady with golden hair 
much disheveled. It was no use. He was losing 
precious time here. He called Terry, told him to 
take care of his property, wait till the crowd had 
cleared and the officials were more at liberty, and 
then to make diligent inquiry of every one who 
might have seen Lady Madge. 

Terry promised, and was thankful St. John had 
not thought of the Pullman conductor, who might 
have given information that would have set him on 
the right track. 

St. John’s search was fruitless. He set every en- 
gine in motion to discover her whereabouts in vain. 
He was in great fear that her father should discover 
she was not with him, which might lead to her re- 
call home and himself being discarded by her. He 
might fool Madge with a story of Cicel}^ being no 
wife of his. He could not hope to so deceive Lord 
Ferrars. 

Lady Madge, with her father as protector, was a 
very different person from the ignorant, friendless 
girl he believed her to be. Therefore, all his efforts 
to find her had to be made secretly. Advertise he 
dared not. He was getting very uneasy on other 
points, too. Reports of Lord Ferrars’s illness took 
an alarming turn. Of Laura Perceval’s boundless 
influence over him there seemed no doubt. And 
then came one that startled him completely. It 
was said Lord Ferrars was going to marry Miss 
Perceval. 

“ By Jove ! If she marries him, I ’m done for ! 
And she ’s just the very woman to do it ! What a 


Yet She Loved Him. 


55 


confounded fool I have been ! That ’s been her 
game ! That ’s why she played into my hands ! 
What an idiot I was to believe blood is thicker than 
water with a woman like Laura ! And that just for 
what she would gain as my half-sister, I being rich. 
She has worked for me. I must act. I ’ll run down 
and see her. I wonder if I couldn’t get some inside 
knowledge of the old man’s doings. If I only knew 
how that will stands. Yes, I must see her ; but she 
shall not know I suspect her. And she, too, will 
know where Madge is. I must, at any rate, keep 
friends with her, treacherous as she is. My turn 
will eome.” 

He acted quickly. He bade Terry keep a sharp 
lookout for Lady Margaret, believing she might 
come or send while he was away from town. He 
believed so entirely in her love that, even after all 
that had passed, he thought her woman’s heart 
would bring her back to him, when her temporary 
jealousy v/as over. If he could only have had her 
to himself long enough to make the glib explana- 
tion he had to offer her, he felt sure she would 
never have had courage to leave him. 

St. John well knew the neigborhood of Melford. 
He put up at Exeter, and on pretext of sketching 
the fine old hall, he hung about the grounds, taking 
care that Lord Ferrars should not see him ; but of 
that there was little risk, as he soon found, for he 
was recovering from a severe stroke of paralysis, 
and only drove or walked at -stated times, which he 
could easily avoid, for he managed to learn the 
habits of the inmates well. Exeter was only three 


56 


Vet She Loved Him. 


miles from Melford Hall, and he stayed there 
several days and heard all the gossip, and learned 
more of the ins and outs of the house than would 
otherwise have been possible, before he sought that 
interview he had determined on with Laura. 






CHAPTER VII. 

Mary Holmes, the old nurse to whom Madge 
decided to go and learn her father’s true state, and 
perhaps steal a look at his dear face, was sitting in 
her cottage, within sight of the gables of Melford, 
thinking of her lost darling and on the wickedness 
of Laura Perceval, of whom all the servants at the 
hall were talking. She was wishing she could warn 
her, and beg her to return, when the door opened, 
and Lady Madge stood before her ; but not till that 
elderly bonnet and gray veil were thrown off, did 
Nurse Holmes recognize her. 

“ Lady Madge !” she cried. “ Heaven be praised !” 
Then with a pitiful voice : “ Oh, my poor, poor, dear 
lady !” 

She started forward to take her nursling in her 
arms; her last words were a significant comment 
on her changed looks. The tears were in the nurse’s 
eyes. How different was this careworn girl from 
the radiant, petted one she had last seen ! 

“ Hush, nurse dear ! No one must know I am 
here ; but I felt I could not live without seeing my 

[ 57 ] 


58 


Vet She Loved Him. 


father. If I find all well with him I will go away 
and wait till he consents to pardon me.” 

“ Indeed, then, my lady, you ’ll not find him well. 
He ’s a broken-hearted gentleman ever since he ’s 
been here.” 

“ But why, oh, why is he so hard that he will not 
forgive or see me?” cried Madge, in an agony of 
sorrow. 

“ Have you asked him, miss ?” asked Mary, 
anxiously. 

“ I have, indeed. I ’ve spared no effort to soften 
him toward me.” 

“ Lady Madge, dear, you just go yourself and 
see your father. I don’t believe there needs any 
one to speak between you and my lord ; and don’t 
trust to Miss Perceval, that’s my advice.” 

“ Dear nurse, you never liked her, but you may 
be right. I will see him, but to-night I will rest ; 
for should he still prove hard and unforgiving I 
could better bear it to-morrow. Then I will find 
courage to risk all his anger and see him.” 

At that same hour of difsk Lawrence St. John and 
Laura Perceval were walking up and down an avenue 
of dense trees, and she was endeavoring to reassure 
him as to her intentions. 

“ But this new will they talk of? Do you know 
what it is ?” asked Lawrence. 

“ No ; I don’t believe anything about it. I must 
have known, and you must be sure your interest is 
mine. This report about -my trying to marry him 
is too absurd to contradict. He is a dying man and, 
as you are my brother, it is natural that I should 


Yet She Loved Him. 


59 


wish you to inherit rather than a stranger, as Gerald 
is, for your good must be my good.” 

“ Of course, of course,” said her half-brother. 
“You keep faith with me, Laura, and I will make 
your fortune.” 

And then, fearful of being seen, Laura returned 
to the house and Lawrence turned to leave the 
grounds, but a thought struck him, and he turned 
back toward the house. He would wait till dark 
and then see for himself how Lord Ferrars looked. 
On mild nights he always sat in his library with the 
lights burning and blinds open. If he looked ill, 
he might trust Laura ; a sick man would be little 
inclined for marriage, as she had said. 

•jf * * * * * 

Lady Madge sadly needed rest and sleep, but al- 
though she went up to the little room assigned her 
and her nurse helped her to undress, neither came 
to her ; agitating thoughts of her old home so near, 
of her father and what she had heard kept sleep 
from her eyes. It was barely seven o’clock when 
she retired, but she knew Mary’s own hour for re- 
tiring was not much later. She lay and tossed till 
the stable clock of Melford struck the half-hour 
after eight. The tears rushed to her eyes at that 
well-remembered sound, and she remembered the 
Hall was visible from the room , she was in. She 
got up, threw open the window. Yes, there in the 
moonlight stood the beautiful home of her child- 
hood ; it stood high, and she could see every win- 
dow on the side nearest to her. There was light in 
the library, and in fancy she saw her dear father 


6o 


Yet She Loved Him. 


sitting there in his loneliness, perhaps yearning 
for her, as she yearned for him. A soft, irresistible 
impulse came over her to see his dear face this 
night before she slept. He would be sitting, she 
believed, as his custom was, with curtains undrawn, 
shutters unclosed. She would steal into the 
grounds, and so gaze on him while he knew it not. 

She quickly dressed. Wrapping herself in her 
large gray cloak she went softly down the stairs 
and out into the fragrant night air. A few minutes’ 
walking brought her to the grounds of Melford 
Hall. She entered by a private gate that led to the 
shrubbery. As she stepped swiftly and quietly 
along, she took no note of her surroundings, and 
thus she saw not a man, who turned into a path 
away from the house as she came up. The man 
started, stood back in the shrubbery, then when she 
had passed, stole softly after her. 

Madge’s heart beat rapidly as she drew near the 
well-remembered terrace, and when she found her- 
self in front of the library window, from which the 
cheerful light streamed out and mingled with the 
moonbeams, she put her hand before her eyes for a 
moment, before daring to look at the window ; then, 
with quick impatience, she gazed within, and as she 
gazed the tears came welling np. Yes, there was 
her father ; but ah, so changed ! They had not de- 
ceived her, who said he was broken and aged. He 
looked seventy. How long she stood and looked 
she knew not, so absorbed was she. 

As she looked upon him, the resolution grew 
upon her to go in then to her father and throw 


Yet She Loved Him. 


6i 


herself at his feet, but she stayed yet awhile to 
gaze her fill at that dear, drawn face, in case he 
cast her off even now. Her eyes blinded by tears, 
she watched him lay down the pen, with which he 
had been idling rather than writing, although the 
table was covered with papers, and lying back in 
his chair his eyelids closed, and like a tired child 
he slept. 

Madge seated herself on the stone base of one of 
the pillars to wait until he should rouse. He looked 
so sadly feeble, she feared her sudden entrance 
might even be too much for him. As she sat thus 
with the honeysuckle that climbed round the pillar 
caressing her hair, memory recalled the many 
happy nights she had come out after dinner and 
sat on the very spot. What a different creature 
was she now, from the happy, lighthearted girl who 
had sat there but a few short months ago. As her 
thoughts thus went back, her eyes were fixed on 
her father. Suddenly their expression changed 
from love to astonishment, then terror. As her 
father lay dozing, a figure had glided from behind 
the heavy curtains that screened a door at the end 
of the room. The figure came softly to the table, 
glanced eagerly over it, then took up a long blue 
document that lay there. Half unconsciously Madge 
read in large legal text the words : 

“ Last Will and Testament i' 

She rose giddily and mechanically prepared to 
descend the steps. She turned once to look into 
the room she might never see again. Gone was all 


62 


Yet She Loved Him. 


intention of throwing herself at her father’s feet 
and imploring pardon. The shadow of crime came 
between them now. 

As she thus took her last look a sudden shriek 
burst from her lips on the still night air. She ran 
forward a few steps with arms extended, then reeled, 
swayed and would have fallen to the ground but for 
the strong arm of a man outstretched to save her. 

Above her shriek was heard another cry, .so awful, 
so full of agony, that naught but death could wring 
from mortal lips ! • 



CHAPTER VIIL 

The man who had seen Lady Madge pass in the 
shrubbery was John Lorrimer. Living opposite 
her, he watched her movements, not with a spy’s 
hateful purpose, but with a tender, protecting in- 
stinct. He had no right openly to espouse her 
cause or help her in her trouble, but he dreaded for 
her he knew not what — some desperate road out of 
the trouble she was in, perhaps ! At all events he 
followed her outgoings, and did not rest till he saw 
her safely housed ; and thus this time, when she 
went forth from Mecklenburgh Square, cloaked and 
veiled, something about her or some subtle instinct 
in himself told him she was going on a journey. 
To seize his hat and follow her to the station, to 
take a ticket and go on the same train, and then to 
keep her in view without being seen, required a 
series of clever maneuvers of which a French agent 
of police might have been proud. 

He knew nothing of Melford, but he watched her 
into her nurse’s cottage, and then, going into a 
roadside inn near, got some refreshment, much 
needed, and learned, by guarded questions, all the 
gossip of the neighborhood, and who occupied the 

[63] 


64 


YH She Loved Him. 


cottage in which Lady Madge was sheltered, and 
was very glad to learn it was that of her nurse. 
Here she was safe. She was no doubt going to re- 
turn, implore her father’s pardon, and take her 
place at home once more. His errand had apparently 
ended, yet he had heard of Miss Perceval’s supposed 
power and her motives. Might it not be possible 
that her evil counsel would prevail, and the father 
prove pitiless? And then, driven forth from the 
home she had abandoned, what might not the un- 
happy girl do ? John Lorrimer’s great heart swelled 
as he pictured her suffering. How tenderly and 
hopelessly he loved this girl, who had believed she 
had not a friend in the world ! Determined to be 
at hand if she needed him, knowing no train re- 
turned to London that night, he sat at the window 
of the inn, thinking of this great love of his, and 
how it absorbed his life, when he started as if shot ! 
A man passed along the road. It was getting 
dusk, but surely he could not be mistaken in that 
gait ! It must be Lawrence St. John ! If so, what 
could it portend but mischief to the girl whose evil 
genius he had been ! He followed him at a dis- 
tance, saw him enter the grounds, make a signal, 
and then that he was joined by Miss Perceval. Now 
he knew there must be something brewing against 
the peace of the woman he loved, and unfamiliar 
as he was with the grounds, he yet found means of 
being present at that interview, and within earshot 
some of the time, and thus he was armed with 
some valuable knowledge ; but what he would have 
been most thankful to know escaped him. 


Yet She Loved Him. 


65 


He saw Laura return to the house, and then St. 
John turn to go out, and then alter his plan and re- 
turn, and linger about it, keeping carefully out of 
sight, and then, when the servant entered the li- 
brary with lights, and Lord Ferrars could be seen 
safely at dinner in the dining room, he saw him go 
up the terrace steps and enter the library; and after 
trying the drawers of the writing-table and seeking 
something everywhere, he hid himself behind the 
curtains. 

At this point Lorrimer was sadly perplexed. That 
St. John was there for some nefarious purpose he 
knew — could even guess what it might be — but how 
could he act ? Should he give an alarm ? What 
would Madge wish? He walked, in his perturba- 
tion, toward the shrubberies, and had just decided 
to return, see Lord Ferrars, and tell him what he 
he had seen, when he saw Madge approaching, just 
'in time to conceal himself. 

She was going to see her father, of course, and 
now might need a watchful friend, perhaps. All 
thought of Lord Ferrars, the probable larceny con- 
templated by St. John — everything — vanished at 
the sight of the woman he loved ; his thoughts 
were filled only with her. He followed, and saw her 
reach the terrace, saw that Lord Ferrars had entered 
the room and was already occupied with his papers, 
and then he retired a short distance and seated 
himself on a sheltered seat on the lawn, where he 
could see Madge leave, if she did so yet not be in- 
truding on the sacredness of an interview. 

He could not, from where he now was, see the 


66 


Yet She Loved Him. 


terrace. As time elapsed, he concluded she must 
be with her father ; but after some time he saw her, 
with a terrible look of woe, run forward, her face 
ghastly in the moonlight, and then her scream rang 
out, mingled with that other cry, which, while it 
curdled the blood in his veins, he yet did not heed 
in the wild bound he made, just in time to prevent 
her fall ; for, seeing her in her dire distress, he had 
followed the cherishing instinct of his love, and 
extended his arms to receive her, as he did, in a 
swoon. 

“ Poor little one ! She has made her appeal in 
vain. I did not expect that, my darling. But now 
how to get her away from this inhospitable house !” 

He was a very strong man, and she but a slender 
girl. He carried her as if she were a mere baby, 
taking his way through the private path by which 
they had entered. Then, remembering the nurse, 
he made for her cottage. 

He was sure she was the only one to whom Lady 
Madge had intrusted the secret of her coming here. 
Surely he might ask for succor and rest for her ! 

As he carried his precious burden he remembered 
how often he had dreamed of holding her thus in 
his arms, her heart beating to his, and gone into 
secret raptures over the dream, knowing it could 
never be more ; and' now that dream was realized, 
but how sadly ! Every fiber of his heart thrilled 
with sympathy for her trouble, and he would have 
given his right hand to save her a harsh word. 

When he reached the gate he stopped a minute 
to rest and to gaze, unrestrained, on the face he 


Yet She Loved Him. 


67 


loved so well. As he looked on those dear features, 
to which the pale moon was lending a marble purity, 
his great heart swelled with love, pity and regret. 
All the repressed passion of his nature surged 
within him, and the impulse to kiss the sweet 
lips for once was well-nigh irresistible. He almost 
yielded to the intoxicating thought. Such bliss to 
him ! vSo harmless to her ! And then all that was 
good and manly in him warned him to respect her 
helplessness, and he resumed his way, ashamed of 
the mad impulse. 

Great was Mrs. Holmes’s astonishment and fear 
to see her dear young lady carried in by a strange 
gentleman, and it was some time before he could 
make her understand how it all happened. She 
had believed Lady Madge to be in her room, but 
when he did make it clear, giving what he believed 
to be a correct version — that Madge had presented 
herself to her father and been driven off with such 
contumely as to make her desperate, and, overcome 
by wounded love and her despair, she had fainted 
— when Nurse Mary heard this, many were her indig- 
nant ejaculations about her “ poor, ill-treated lamb.” 

When John Lorrimer had seen her open her 
. eyes, he withdrew, thinking she might be offended 
at finding him there. 

Madge gazed around her wonderingly until her 
eyes fell on her old nurse ; then she seemed to re- 
member all, and was seized with a shuddering fit, 
and, burying her head in the pillow, she wept con- 
vulsively ; and Mary, knowing she was best left 
alone, left the room to tell Mr. Lorrimer. 


68 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“That’s right, I suppose ” he said. “ They say 
tears relieve a woman. Poor, poor girl ! I am 
staying at the Crown, and will come in the morning 
to see what I can do.” 

Mary Holmes wondered who this kind young 
gentleman could be. At first she had supposed he 
was staying at the Hall, but as he said he was at the 
Crown, he seemed to be a stranger. 

When she returned to Madge, she found her sit- 
ting on the bed looking almost wild with grief. 

“ How is my father ? Oh, Mary, tell me ! How 
is my darling father ?” 

Mary looked bewildered. 

“And didn’t you see him, dearie? . I’ve heard 
nothing since you came, and I ’m sure, although he 
is my lord and I ’ve worked for him and his, ever 
since I was a child, whatever happens now serves 
him right, to treat his own flesh and blood so. Oh, 
but that Jezebel must have got the right side of 
him nicely !” 

“ Mary, for pity’s sake don’t speak so of my 
father — my dear, dear father ! Send at once and 
see how he is. Oh, Mary ! My good Mary, I am 
so anxious !” 

“ But, my dear young lady !” said the bewildered 
woman, now quite sure trouble had turned Madge’s 
brain ; then, seeing her wild, imploring look, she 
hastened to add : “ Yes, yes ! I will wake Jane, and 
she shall go.” 

And anxious to appease her, and thinking in case 
of emergency it would be well if Jennie, her niece, 
were up, she woke her, telling her to dress at once. 


Yel She Loved Him. 


69 


As she was returning to the room where Madge 
was, the sound of hasty footsteps arrested her, and 
going to the outer door, she found herself face to 
face with Lorrimer, but Lorrimer with white face 
and horror in his eyes. 

“ For mercy’s sake, Mrs. Holmes, keep Lady 
Madge’s presence here unknown. We must do 
something to get her away. Lord Ferrars is 
dead.” 

Dead ! The Lord save us !” 

“ Hush, hush, my good woman, she may hear. 
But there is worse news yet !” 

The caution came too late. The door opened, 
and Madge stood before them. 

“ My father is dead,” she said, with unnatural 
calm. “ I ’m sure of it.” 

Mr. Lorrimer stepped forward and took her hand 
and bowed over it in silence. 

“ I will go to him at once ! Oh, why did I ever 
leave him? Dearest of fathers, and this is my 
work !” 

Lorrimer made an affrighted gesture. 

“ Hush, dear lady, say nothing, I beg ! Oh„ be 
careful for the sake of all who love you ! You must 
not go to the hall at present.” 

“ Not go to my father ?” she asked, passing her 
hand over her forehead, as if she could not under- 
stand. 

“ No, not now. There are circumstances which 
make it imperative you should not go there, that 
you should not be known to be in the neighbor- 
hood.” 


70 


Yet She Loved Him, 


Circumstances about my father’s death !” re- 
peated Madge, slowly. Then, as if a light had 
broken suddenly upon her, she exclaimed : “ He 
was murdered !” 

Mary Holmes and Jennie, who had entered, 
shrank back, appalled, as they heard her. Neither 
doubted what she said — it sounded prophetic. 

John Lorrimer trembled as he looked at that fair, 
slight girl, knowing what he knew, and she did not 
even suspect. • 

Madge had seen in his face confirmation of her 
fears. The earth seemed to reel round with her ; 
and putting out her hands helplessly, she moaned : 

“ My crime has found me out ! Take me away — 
anywhere, anywhere ! Oh, that it might be to my 
grave !” 

“ Hush, hush, dear Lady Margaret ! Will you — 
can you trust to me ? I will do what I think is best 
for you. I know the hall is no place for you now. 
You can do your father no good, and — ’ 

Madge suddenly calmed herself. 

“You are very, very kind,” she said, brokenly. 
“ I would trust you, but I know that my place is 
near m}^ father in my own own home ; and I am 
going there.” 

Lorrimer had heard at the inn where he had 
stayed, and where the excited people had been 
talking of the murder when he got back, that Lady 
Madge had been recognized in the grounds by a 
servant, and seen to go toward the library window. 
By the ominous looks and nods, he had at once 
divined the atrocious insinuations that would be 


Vet She Loved Him. 


71 


made, and although he could not fear arrest for her 
‘ — injustice could not go that length — he knew that 
dirt once thrown will often cling. 

It was near midnight now, and finding she was 
determined to go at once to the hall, he proposed to 
conduct her there. It seemed impossible he could 
tell her the reason he had for wishing her not to go. 
Then suddenly she turned to him. She was 
strangely calm. Had her eyes not shone with pe- 
culiar brilliance, she might have been thought to 
take her terrible loss coldly. But Lorrimer under- 
stood the volcano within her breast as she said : 

“ I am going to trust you, for — heaven help me ! 
— I have no friend in the world.” 

“ You may ! You may ! Lady Madge, my dear- 
est wish is to be useful to you.” 

He spoke with eager warmth, that at another 
time might have revealed the real state of his feel- 
ing ; but now everything was unnatural. Why 
should she be impressed with the manner of his 
words? 

“ I will trust you. If a woman is married and 
knows her husband to have committed a crime, can 
she be forced to speak ?” 

“ No. I do not know even if she can testify 
against her husband ; but if her speaking would re- 
lieve another of suspicion, ought she not to tell what 
she knows ?” 

“Ah — another? I — I could not conaemn a man 
I once loved to the scaffold ! It would not bring 
my father back to life. It would do no one any 
good, and heaven will avenge him !” 


72 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ Lady Madge, I think I understand now what I 
have feared before. You are married to Mr. St. 
John.” She made no sign of assent or dissent, and 
he continued : “ I must now tell you why I think 

it will spare you infinite pain not to go to the hall 
unless you are willing to tell everything you know. 
You are known to be in this neighborhood, and 
already your name is mixed up with the story, and 
suspicion will point to your being in collusion with 
St. John. I can tell what I know, but I fear it will 
not clear you. I saw him enter the library and you 
wait outside on the terrace. Legally, my own con- 
viction goes for nothing ; the fact I can testify to 
will be terribly against you ; therefore I must, for 
your sake, keep silence, nor would you, perhaps, do 
any good by telling the facts.” 

Lorrimer spoke moodily ; he was aghast at the 
terrible aspect of the case against his idol ! To 
think that for her who was so dear to him he could 
do nothing ! Although he knew the truth, he could 
not prove it. 

“ Oh, you must be silent, please, and so must 1. 
What either of us will say will do good to none, and 
injure only one.” 

Lorrimer looked at her almost in anger. How 
she must love this man with whom yet she could 
not live, because he was unworthy. If he had been 
able to convict by his testimony St. John, and clear 
her, he might have refused to listen to her ; as it 
was, to accuse him was to accuse her. Had she not 
been on the spot, looking on ! 

“Your wish is my law,” he said. “I will be 


Yet She Loved Him. 


73 


silent, since my speaking would not benefit anyone. 
But will you be able to support the ordeal of meet- 
ing your husband, knowing what you and I know ?” 

“ Meet him, St. John, never, never!” 

“ But you must. He will be sent for by those 
who know of your marriage.” 

“ I married him, but he is no husband of mine. 
No, no, never 1 He must never know where I am.” 

“ Then, dear Lady Madge, do not go to the hall. 
Let me manage for you.” 

“ I will, I will ! Ah, heaven help me, I forfeited 
my father’s love and now the right to be near his 
dear dead body. Oh, take me anywhere, any- 
where !” 

Overcome by her emotion, by the last terrible 
thought, Lorrimer saw the pallor of death over- 
spread her face, her hands fall, and the next mo- 
ment he sprang toward her, calling loudly for Mary 
Holmes. 




CHAPTER IX. 

Meanwhile all was terror and confusion at the 
hall. The rector of the parish was a gentleman 
named Kyne, an old college friend of the earl’s, and 
when the living of Melford became vacant, the 
latter gave it to his old college mate ; and when he 
was in Devonshire the two gentlemen were much 
together. He was entirely in the earl’s confidence, 
and to Mr. Kyne the steward sent a man on horse- 
back with information of the tragedy, and the 
clergyman returned with him at once and took the 
direction of everything. 

He telegraphed to London, sent information to 
his fellow-magistrates and himself took the key of 
the library, where the nobleman had been found by 
those whom his death-cry had brought to his aid 
too late. 

Miss Perceval had been the first person he met as 
he came to the hall. She was on the terrace in 
front of the house. 

Oh, Mr. Kyne, I am so thankful you have come ! 
Is not this a terrible thing?” 

[ 74 ] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


75 


She was as pale as death and her teeth chattered 
as if with cold, despite the mild May night. 

He strode past her into the house. She was no 
favorite of his, and she was the only subject on 
which he and his old friend had differed. The ser- 
vants were all huddled together in the hall, near 
the door of the library where the late lord lay. The 
room was empty but for that terrible occupant, the 
shaded lamp still throwing its cheerful light over 
all, the window still open to let in the fragrant 
night air. The valet came forward to tell, in answer 
to Mr. Kyne’s inquiries, how he had been alarmed, 
just as he was going to bed, by a terrible cry and a 
woman's scream. He opened his door, and found 
that other persons had heard it, too, and they all 
hastened to the library in a body, and there found 
his poor master dead, the blood trickling from 
mouth and nostrils, too evidently, even to their in- 
experienced eyes, strangled. Some of them had 
gone at once to tell Miss Perceval, whom they met 
coming downstairs, alarmed, like themselves, by 
that awful cry, and she had dispatched one of them 
in search of Mr. Kyne and another to the doctor. 

Mr. Kyne entered the room, closed the windows, 
and then came out and locked the door. 

Then he heard whispers among the servants that 
Lady Madge had been seen near the terrace just 
before the murder, and one of them, a groom, who 
had entered Lord Ferrars service recently, hinted 
that it was a very strange thing she should be there 
a few minutes before he was murdered, and yet not 
be found at the house now. A few stern words 


76 


Yet She Loved Him. 


from the rector silenced the gossip, but just then 
Miss Perceval came to the excited group. 

“ Did some of you see Lady Madge St. John in 
the grounds to-night !” she asked eagerly. No one 
had done so. 

“ Did you, Miss Perceval ?” asked Mr. Kyne. 

“ Yes,*I did.” 

“ Mr. Kyne said nothing. He knew now who 
had started the rumor of Madge being near. He 
did not believe it, but to make certain he directed 
search to be made in the grounds. He knew the 
odious suspicion could have no just grounds, but she 
might have come to Melford to see her father, and 
lost courage — might be in some remote part of the 
grounds, and yet ignorant of the tragedy. On this 
chance he directed the search to be made. He then 
sent telegrams to various persons interested, among 
others to Lady Madge St. John at her husband’s 
chambers. It will be seen that, as no other address 
was known. Miss Perceval had not allowed any one 
to know the purport of Madge’s letters, and Lord 
Ferrars died believing his daughter had disobeyed 
him and was impenitently enjoying her married 
life without even taking the trouble to ask his 
pardon. 

The doctor had now arrived, and he examined 
the body and pronounced life quite extinct. He 
pointed out certain livid marks about the neck, 
which he said must be from the fingers of a woman 
or the smallest -handed man he had ever known. 

Mr. Kyne shuddered, but he said incredulously : 

“ You do not mean that the slender hands of a 


Yet She Loved Him. 


77 


woman could have strength for such a thing as 
that?” 

“ My dear sir, his hold on life was so frail a child 
might have done it. Though he came through this 
attack he was slowly dying.” 

Mr. Kyne said nothing. If the murder had been 
committed by a woman, he believed there was one 
far more probably guilty than Madge. He and the 
doctor proceeded to seal up everything in the room. 
The scattered papers were gathered together into 
one drawer, and they both affixed their seals. 

As they came into the hall they met Laura Per- 
ceval at the door. She was already deadly pale, as 
was every one in the house ; but there was a look 
of restless anxiety in her face which Mr. Kyne 
noted, and the doctor too, but with a different con- 
clusion. 

“ Miss Perceval,” said the latter, kindly, “ you had 
better go to your room and try to rest. To-morrow 
will be a trying day.” 

“ Thank you, I will. But, doctor — Mr. Kyne — 
who do you think did this ?” 

“ Time will show, let us hope,” said the rector. 

* * * * 

Mary Holmes, with Lorrimer’s aid, got Madge 
back into her room, and then he left it ; while, with 
Jennie’s assistance, she was made comfortable. But 
when the swoon was over she was wandering in her 
mind. She did not know Mary, and fancied she 
was with her father. 

Lorrimer was waiting below when Mary entered 
the room. 


78 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ I don’t know what to do. She must have a 
doctor at once. She is very ill, and my belief is she 
is going to have a fever.” 

Lorrimer looked much perplexed. 

“No one must suspect she is here, or she will be 
tormented with inquiries, which can do no good — 
which she will refuse to answer, and so cover her- 
self with suspicion, and which may kill her after 
what she has endured. Have you a doctor you can 
trust ?” 

“ Yes ; I believe we may trust Doctor Gray.” 

“ Can you send for him ?” 

“Yes. Jennie must go and say I am ill with 
cramps. I often have them.” 

“ Very well, send for him ; and, for your life, 
keep her being here secret. Put out all lights, or, 
better, pin a blanket before the shade to her win- 
dow, so that, when a light is necessary, it may not 
be seen from outside.” 

“ Never fear, sir. I always burn a light at night, 
being accustomed to it. So many years in the nur- 
sery spoiled me. Every one in Melford knows my 
light.” 

“ So much the better. You are sure we may trust 
Doctor Gray?” 

“Ah, surely you may. He was her mother’s 
friend and brought her into the world.” 

“ He will not betray her, then. I shall remain 
till he comes ; then I will go to Exeter and come 
back in the morning with the crowd of sensation- 
hunters. I will represent myself as a reporter, 
which will account for my going to the hall and all 


Yet She Loved Him. 


79 


the inquiries I may make. Meanwhile, when 
Jennie comes back, prepare her for a journey. Lady 
Madge’s safety demands it.” 

All this conversation passed rapidly, and then 
Mary sent Jennie for Doctor Gray. 

Mary Holmes, while full of horror at the terrible 
events happening, was yet struck by the wonderful 
interest this young and handsome stranger took in 
Lady Madge’s trouble, and there was something in 
his manner which seemed to warrant his taking the 
management of everything in his own hands. Per- 
haps she thought he might be a relative of Mr. St. 
John. At all events, .she was thankful to him. 

Very soon the doctor came, and Mr. Lorrimer, in 
his self-constituted capacity of protector of Lady 
Madge, stepped forward and took him aside. One 
look at the kind face reassured him, and after a few 
minutes’ earnest conversation the doctor was won, 
heart and soul, to the cause of the unhappy girl 
whom he had known so well in her blithe child- 
hood. He also had a few particulars to add to what 
John already knew, and then, while the doctor went 
in to his patient, Mary Holmes came out. 

“ Mrs. Holmes, Lady Margaret St. John is sus- 
pected of her father’s murder, and, absurd as the 
idea seems, appearances are terribly against her. 
She is known to have come to Melford secretly ; to 
have been outside and not to. have entered the 
house ; was seen lingering about the library, and 
her handkerchief was found on the terrace. She has 
interest, and she only, in his death, and, unhappily, 
if I were called as a witness, the evidence I should 


8o 


Yet She Loved Him. 


be obliged to give would be more condemnatory 
than all the rest.” 

“ But you don’t believe such a fearful thing !” ex- 
claimed the woman, indignantly. 

“ Believe it ! No. indeed ; but it is most impor- 
tant that she should be believed to have left the 
neighborhood, or she will be subjected to an exam- 
ination, even if she is not arrested ; and situated as 
she is, the horror of the accusation may deprive 
her of reason. Now, what I propose is that your 
niece, who seems a bright girl, should put on Lady 
Madge’s cloak, bonnet and veil. She is about her 
height, and if she goes to Carew station, she can 
there take the train for London. She must keep 
closely veiled, take a first-class ticket, and fee the 
guard to give her a compartment to herself— a very 
general thing with ladies travelling alone. Then 
she can leave the cloak and veil in the car and get 
out at the first stopping-place, take the next train 
back to Melford in her own person. I suppose all 
Melford people often take the three-mile journey to 
Exeter by rail ?” 

Oh, dear, yes, sir ; we do our weekly purchasing 
there, and go often enough.” 

“ Then make Jennie look as like Lady Margaret 
as possible and explain what is wanted of her.” 

“ I will, sir ; and she is just the one who can do 
it.” 

“ I think so. It is two miles from this to Carew, I be- 
lieve, and she must be there to catch the five-o’clock 
train ; so there is not much time. Let her try to get 
a couple of hours’ sleep, and then start. She must 


Yet She Loved Him. 


8i 


take all Lady Margaret’s rings, wear them, and tell 
her to be sure to display them in taking her ticket ; 
also to the guard ; at the same time keeping care- 
fully veiled. Once in the car she must be careful 
to remove them and put them in her pocket. If 
this plan is well carried out, I think it will stop all 
inquiry in this neighborhood and tell your niece 
she shall have five pounds for losing her night’s 
rest.” 

“ Indeed, sir, she ’ll do nothing of the kind. I ’d 
like to see any one belonging to me who wouldn’t 
do twenty times as much for that dear innocent !” 

“ You will need money, at any rate, to carry out 
the plan,” he said, laying his purse down. “ I shall 
see what I can do to set inquirers on the scent to 
Carew to-morrow early, and it would, of course, 
seem quite likely that any one wanting to leave 
secretly would leave by another station than Mel- 
ford to avoid suspicion.” The doctor now came out 
of the patient’s room. He looked grave. “ Lady 
Madge is suffering from the terrible mental shock 
she has had. She must be kept absolutely quiet, or 
I will not answer for consequences. She must see 
no one at all but you, nurse. If any change takes 
place send to me at once ; and I think you had 
better plead rheumatism to account for my coming.” 
The doctor turned to Lorrimer. “ And you, sir, 
who seem to have performed a Samaritan’s part to 
this friendless lady, are you staying in the neigh- 
borhood ?” 

Lorrimer was somewhat embarrassed ; then, con- 
scious of the purity of his motives, he said : 


82 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ I hope I may call myself a friend of this lady, 
and anticipating trouble for her I took the liberty 
of watching over her. I will explain further at 
another time.” 

“ But where are you going to-night, or rather this 
morning ?” 

I dined at the Crown and meant to sleep there, 
but I — ” 

“ You won’t get in there at this hour, or if you 
did, it would cause remarks, but come with me ; 
you will be welcome at my house. I am a bachelor, 
and there is no one but my old housekeeper, who is 
very discreet.” 

Lorrimer gladly accepted, and left the cottage 
with him. 

Mary Holmes equipped her niece as planned, and 
as she looked after her, when she had started in 
gray morning, she thought she might easily pass 
thus dressed for Lady Madge — to those who would 
know so little of her as the people of Carew would 
be likely to do. 




CHAPTER X. 

The next day, the magistrates, who had been 
neighbors and friends of Lord Ferrars, assembled 
at the inquest held to ascertain the cause of his 
death. 

The servants were first examined, but nothing 
bearing on the case was elicited beyond what was 
already known. 

Then Laura Perceval was examined, and she 
stated that between ten and eleven o’clock she 
stepped out on the balcony in front of the window, 
as she frequently did before retiring, when she 
heard a fearful cry. She looked below and saw a 
woman’s figure rush down the steps toward the 
shrubbery. 

When she was asked if she could say whose fig- 
ure it was, she answered slowly : 

“ It was that of Lady Margaret St. John.” 

A murmur ran through the room. And then a 
man came forward, who stated that he had seen a 
lady, closely veiled and in a gray cloak, arrive at 
Melford station the evening before, whom, in spite 
of her veil, he recognized as Lady Madge, but had 

[83] 


84 


Yet She Loved Him, 


not noticed where she went ; had supposed, of 
course, she was going to the hall. 

Another man, a porter from Carew Station, which 
was the first beyond Melford, and two miles further 
from Exeter, .stated that he had seen a lady leave 
by the five o’clock train, who answered the descrip- 
tion of Lady Madge. She was dressed in a long 
gray cloak and veil, had particularly noticed her 
beautiful rings as she put her hand on the door of 
the carriage. 

Asked to describe the rings, he mentioned one 
which several present knew to belong to Lady 
Madge. 

There being nothing further to be elicited, the 
inquiry was adjourned until the new Lord Ferrars 
and the metropolitan detective could arrive. 

The new Lord Ferrars was that Gerajd Doyle who 
had introduced Lawrence St. John into Ballyreen, 
and, as Lord Ferrars had shrewdly guessed, as a re- 
ward for some play debt leniently dealt with. 

Little more need be said as to his antecedents 
than that the nobleman had been entirely right in 
his surmise. A thoughtless spendthrift who had 
for some years lived solely on his future prospects, 
his pay as lieutenant not being sufficient to pay his 
cigar bill. A barren title it might be that he would 
inherit, yet he had hoped by playing his cards well 
that .some slice of his uncle’s personal estate would 
be left to him on which to support the title. 

There would be such ample fortune for Margaret 
that his hope, had he been commonly prudent, 
would have been reasonable ; but pi:udent he never 


Yet She Loved Him. 


BS 


had been in his life, and bringing his gambler 
friend to share the hospitality of his kinsman was 
an offense Lord Ferrars was not likely to pardon. 

The Melford Hall murder was the theme of all 
men’s tongues for the next few days, and many 
widely divergent opinions were expressed. In the 
immediate neighborhood, where Madge was known 
and loved, and Laura looked upon as an intriguing 
adventuress who had, under the mask of friendship 
for the daughter, poisoned her father’s mind against 
her, the opinion was almost unanimous that Laura 
was the guilty one ; but farther-away public opin- 
ion, judging solely by the facts elicited, unpreju- 
diced, because all were equally strangers, was 
strongly against Madge. 

She had been on the spot secretly, actually a 
minute before the murder, and she was now miss- 
ing from her former home. During these days 
St. John’s real character wa$ all raked up, and it 
seemed to show depraved instincts in a lady to have 
married a blackleg. If motive were demanded 
there were many theories. 

It was suspected that Lord Ferrars had made a 
will, disinheriting his daughter, and that he was 
about to marry Miss Perceval. Was it likely the 
latter would murder the man from whom such 
honor was to come? Had she not every induce- 
ment to prolong his life rather? On the other 
hand, what more likely than that his daughter, who 
had proved her depravity and ingratitude, hearing 
of this will, had gone to Melford intending to ob- 
tain possession of it, had stolen into the library, 


86 


Yet She Loved Him. 


been discovered by her father in the act of abstract- 
ing it, who, disguised as she was, may not have 
recognized her? A struggle ensued, and mad with 
fear, determined to escape with the document, she 
had attempted to silence her father’s cries for as- 
sistance and, ignorant of his feeble condition, had 
unwittingly become a parricide. That the girl, 
who had married as she had done, should end by 
trying to purloin the will that would disinherit her, 
seemed quite natural. 

-X- * * * * * , 

A week later the state of affairs was this : The 
inquest was over, in which it had been proved that 
Lord Ferrars died by strangulation, and proved, too, 
by the evidence of a maid, who was passing Miss 
Perceval’s door at the time the death-cry was heard 
and saw her come out, that she could not possibly 
be the guilty party, and it was almost proved by 
circumstantial evidence that his own daughter was 
that one. Yet the local jury had returned a ver- 
dict against some person or persons unknown. Of 
course, the case would not rest here. Detectives 
were at work to discover who that “ unknown ” was, 
and especially to discover the whereabouts of that 
strangely missing daughter, against whom suspicion 
so strongly pointed. 

Captain St. John came down to hear Lord Ferrars’s 
will read after the funeral. And when he said that 
his wife had left home during his absence abroad 
and had not returned, his anxiety and consternation 
were so evident, his manner so perfect, that he was 
actually believed ! It was known, too, he was mak- 


Yet She Loved Him. 


S? 


ing every exertion to find her, and did not scruple 
to hint at foul play toward her as well as her 
father. Some thought this was collusion between 
husband and wife, others that both father and 
daughter had been foully dealt with. 

Lorrimer, in keeping with the role of reporter, 
which he had taken up, attended everything that 
was going on. He interviewed those whose infor- 
mation might be valuable, and was thus enabled to 
be as much behind the scenes as possible. 

His own conviction was that Laura and St. John 
were accomplices in the murder, remembering, as 
he did, the conversation he had overheard. By 
what jugglery she had managed to prove that she 
was in her room he could not discover, but that 
there was jugglery he was convinced. Her motive 
he believed he knew ; he had learned that there 
had been a will made soon after Madge’s 
flight, made when Lord Ferrars .seemed entirely 
under Laura’s influence, and made, no doubt, in her 
favor. This amply supplied the motive. His in- 
quiry led him to the conviction that there was no 
foundation for the report. That he would have 
married her was mere local gossip ; and from what 
the rector said, he felt sure her power was rapidly 
waning, and she must have been aware of it, too. 
To the detectives he related his suspicions, but they 
seemed to think he knew nothing of the subject. 
(Laura was very pleasant and generous in her en- 
tertainment of every one and won golden opinions 
from strangers.) They shook their heads at Mr. 
Lorrimer’s amateur ideas. There occurred some- 


88 


Yet She Loved Him. 


thing that staggered them, and completely bewil- 
dered him. 

Every one interested was assembled in the draw- 
ing-room of Melford Hall to hear the last will and 
testament read. 

To most people it seemed a sadly significant fact 
that Lady Madge was not in her place with the 
others. Her husband, white and nervous, singu- 
larly unlike the elegant Captain St. John, was 
there. 

The new Lord Ferrars was there with well-affected 
indifference as to the result of the coming reading 
on himself ; and Laura, too, whom almost every one 
present believed was to benefit largely. 

The lawyer entered, looking perplexed and wor- 
ried. Nevertheless, he proceeded with true lawyer- 
like phlegm, as if no four or five persons’ nerves 
were in a state of tension, while he slowly unfolded 
the document, wiped his spectacles, adjusted them 
carefully, and then looked round from one to the 
other. 

No one in that room knew what was in the docu- 
ment, unless Miss Perceval, who sat so placidly cool 
and collected. The lawyer was as ignorant as any 
one else, for it had been drawn up by a lawyer from 
Exeter and witnessed by his clerk. Truly, Laura’s 
star must have been in the ascendant then. 

The lawyer, Mr. Dean, proceeded to read. It was 
a very short, clear document. 

After leaving legacies to all his old servants, one 
thousand pounds to his valued friend, the Rev. 
William Kyne, and five hundred pounds a year to 


Yet She Loved Him. 


89 


his daughter, Lady Madge Doyle, for her life, to be 
used for her sole use and benefit, he bequeathed to 
his dear friend, Laura Perceval, at her particular 
request, the sum of one hundred pounds ! 

There was a pause. Lorrimer, who, by the 
courtesy of the rector, with whom he had become 
well acquainted through Doctor Gray, had been 
allowed in the room, could scarcely believe what he 
heard. 

Where now was his ground of suspicion against 
Laura ? 

Miss Perceval looked triumphant, Lord Ferrars 
puzzled and St. John had bitten his lips till the 
blood came. 

Mr. Dean proceeded. 

“ ‘ I bequeath the whole of my remaining personal 
property to my nephew, Gerald Gerton Doyle.’ ” 

After the discovery that the supposed intrigmite, 
Miss Perceval, was, by her own desire, left only a 
hundred pounds, nothing seemed to surprise any 
one. Yet Lord Ferrars had fainted. Miss Perceval 
was the first to discover it. She sprang to him, 
raised his head, and applied her vinaigrette to his 
nostrils. In a few minutes he recovered, looked 
very much confused, and muttered that it was “ the 
confounded heat,” but no one was deceived. 

Mr. Dean still looked as if he had more to say, 
and when the commotion, caused by Lord Ferrars’s 
swoon, had passed off, every one looked at him, 
wondering what was to come next. 

“ I have read this will because it seems to be the 
only document of the sort forthcoming, but I have 


90 


Yet She Loved Him. 


to say that this was not the last-made will of my 
lamented client.” 

Had Miss Perceval been turned to stone, she 
could not have looked more white or more rigid. 
The rector and Lorrimer were perplexed that in a 
matter on which it was certain now she could have 
so little interest, she should show so much feeling. 

“ No, this was not the last will of the late Lord 
Ferrars,” said Mr. Dean. “ I drew up, by his in- 
structions, a will which he signed a few hours be- 
fore his death. That will was witnessed by Mr. 
Kyne.” 

Every one looked at the rector, who bowed his 
head affirmatively. 

“ I, together with Mr. Kyne, have searched every- 
where for this document and failed to find it. It is 
only to be concluded that his lordship destroyed it, 
which is most improbable, or that it was abstracted 
at the time and by the hand of the murderer.” 

Each looked at the other. Who was that mur- 
derer ? 




CHAPTER XL 

After the reading of that document, which was 
obliged to stand as the last will of Lord Ferrars, 
since no other was forthcoming, the party who had 
assembled to hear it separated. St. John went back 
to search anew for his lost wife, and, now that her 
father was dead he meant to take much more vigor- 
ous measures to find her than he had hitherto 
dared. 

Miss Perceval announced her intention of going 
to London next day. As for Lorrimer, he was 
utterly confounded. 

Where was now his theory of Miss Perceval’s 
guilt ? Where the motive ? In fact, there .seemed 
to the outer world no motive for any one to have 
committed this murder. No one gained but the 
man against whom there was not one circumstance 
for the finger of suspicion to point at — Lord Fer- 
rars 1 

But could John Lorrimer have been present at an 
interview which took place that evening after the 
household had retired, it would have upset his ideas 
once again, and given him confidence in his first 
conclusion. 

Lord Ferrars was sitting outside the drawing- 

[91 ] 


92 


Yei She Loved Him, 


room in a balcony, smoking and thinking over the 
strange freak of fortune which lifted him from one 
of the most impecunious to one of the wealthiest 
men in England, and his thoughts were doing him 
some good. 

Gerald Doyle, now Lord Ferrars, was not a bad 
man, but he was a very weak one, and knew he had 
been a fool. In his solitary reverie he was resolv- 
ing to quit his old life, to travel for a year or two, 
and then to settle down and enjoy the goods the 
gods had provided. Just as he had made this virtu- 
ous resolution the window opened, and Laura Per- 
ceval stepped out and joined him. 

Laura was dressed with apparent carelessness ; 
but a woman would have known this was only in 
appearance ; that that flowing Watteau dress of 
black silk, with its dainty lace ruffles at neck and 
wrist, had not been thrown on as carelessly as it 
would seem ; that those long tresses hanging down 
her neck as if from sheer negligence would not 
have been worn that way if their owner had not 
known that her dark beauty was never so bewitch- 
ing as when looking out from those clouds of hair. 
A graceful, lovely picture it was that stood by Lord 
Ferrars’s side. 

“ As you did not think it worth while to seek an 
interview with me. Lord Ferrars, I had to come to 
you here,” she spoke, half in jest, half in earnest, 
it would seem. “ It is not so long ago since you 
made opportunities in spite of all obstacles.” 

“Yes, but, Laura, think what to-day has been, 
dear, I am only now getting over my surprise.” 


Yet She Loved Him. 


93 


“ And your pleasure.” 

“Yes, indeed, and my pleasure.” 

“ To what do you suppose you owe such a won- 
derful chance? To Lord Ferrars’s sense of your 
deserts ?” 

“ I suppose to my uncle’s sense of right. He 
must have known what misery a barren title entails 
on its possessor.” 

“ Yes ; but, strangely enough, he had no such 
sense of right till it was cultivated.” 

• Gerald looked inquiringly, then said slowly : 

“ I don’t quite understand.” 

Laura laughed lightly. 

“You little knew the friend you had at work. 
Directly I saw Madge’s folly about St. John I saw 
your chance. Lord Ferrars would never leave his 
money to enrich a fellow like that. I made myself 
necessary to him. I sounded your praises adroitly, 
and finally induced him, without allowing him to 
suppose he was being influenced, to make the will 
that enriches you. And now what is to be my re- 
ward ?” 

She lifted her pretty face temptingly near his, 
but he did not appear tempted. 

“ Laura,” he said, hesitatingly, “they are saying 
hard things of you. You have done nothing unfair 
to my poor cousin I hope ? Of course, I pay no at- 
tention to the gossip, but I ask you.” 

“ It is very kind of you,” she said sarcastically, 
for the coolness of the man for whom she had 
plotted so well was beginning to irritate her. 

“Nonsense, Laura! Don’t be sarcastic. But, 


94 


Yet She Loved Him. 


really, I should feel very uncomfortable if I be- 
lieved there had been anything unfair in this busi- 
ness.” 

“ How can you believe so badly of me ? Madge 
behaved shamefully to her father, and he would 
have left the bulk of his money to charities, had I 
not pleaded your cause ; and this is the thanks I get !” 

A few tears coursed down Laura’s cheeks. 

“ There, there ; don’t cry, dear. I am .sure you 
would do nothing wrong. And so you have been 
working for me all this time and said not a word in- 
you letters. Sly one ! Kiss me, dear. You look 
awfully pretty to-night.” 

Laura, soothed by his warmer tone, dried her 
tears and was happy. She did not or would not 
notice that his manner was not that of an ardent 
lover — not what it had been two years before when, 
on a visit to his uncle, he had fallen in love with 
the brilliant companion, who gave her whole heart 
to him. He was too poor to marry, and she knew 
it ; but she had resolved then, if she could compass 
it, he .should not be poor long. 

Therefore when St. John came to Ballyreen, at 
her instance, though apparently brought by Gerald, 
she had aided his suit, encouraged Madge in her 
girlish fancy, telling her stories of his generosity 
and good heart, until the fancy was fanned into 
love. And when the secret marriage was proposed, 
as we have seen, she cleared the way. 

“ But, Laura,” said Lord Ferrars after a pause, 
“ what does that second will mean ? Do you be- 
lieve there was one ?” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


95 


Laura’s face darkened. 

“ Of course, I believe it was made. I can’t under- 
stand who has been countermining my plans. I 
was with the old man incessantly, made myself a 
slave, read to him, walked with him, did everything 
to prevent his mind dwelling on Madge, and to 
think, when I believed I knew everything he did 
and thought, that he was actually changing his 
will !” 

Gerald looked doubtfully at her ; she seemed to 
have forgotten his presence. 

“ I think I ought to do something handsome for 
Madge. I wonder ^ if that other will gave every- 
thing to her?” 

“ Oh, I dare say Mr. Dean will tell you, and you 
can play the heroic and refuse to benefit by her 
misfortune. It would be quite romantic and sound 
so well in the papers ! I wonder if your creditors 
would see the beauty of such magnanimity — ” 

“ Hang it, Laura, don’t rail like that ! I hav^e no 
intention of doing anything quixotic. If that other 
will turns up, I have no doubt I shall make a stand 
to keep what I have, but one need not be quite a 
brute for all that.” 

• “ The other will will never turn up, for I believe 
the old man destroyed it. No one had any interest 
in stealing it. But now, Gerald, I have to decide on 
what I shall do. I must, of course, go from here 
and look for another post, I suppose.” 

“ Oh, no, you needn’t. You ’ll go to Exeter or 
London and stay for a few months.” 

“ And then ?” 


96 


Vet She Loved Him. 


“ And then — Oh, I suppose we shall be married, 
eh ?” 

“Oh, yes! Oh, Gerald! You seemed so cold 
and strange I was fearing you had changed to me. 
Oh, if you ceased to love me I should die ! My love ! 
My love !” 

She threw -herself, sobbing, on his breast, her 
ardent, passionate self revealed now without false- 
ness or disguise. 

“ But I won’t cease to love you, dear,’’ said the 
young lord, pressing her to him with something of 
his old ardor, for she was very pretty and loved 
him devotedly, he knew. “ Of course, I cannot 
marry for some time after my uncle’s death, and I 
want you to be comfortable meanwhile. Of course, 
you will depend on me for the future.” 

And Laura, though she would much rather have 
become Lady Ferrars at once, knew that the 
etiquette of rank would not permit it without 
scandal, and so was obliged to be content with mat- 
ters as they were. 

After she had left, Gerald lit a fresh cigar. 

“ I suppose this will end up in a deuce of a row. 
And I have let myself deeper in the mire than 
ever ! What a weak fool I am ! But it would have 
been brutal to have told her now, just when she had 
given me such proof of her love. That ’s the deuce 
of it. She is so terribly in earnest. Of course, I ’m 
grateful to her, though most likely the old boy 
would have used me pretty well, and I would rather 
have had part and a more comfortable feeling ; but 
if I was not in love with Clara and felt inclined to 


HOW liEAUTIFULt 18 THAT FOR ME J'af/g 37. 

















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Yet SJie Loved Him, 


97 


marry Laura, who is awfully attractive, how could 
I? A nice talk there would be, by Jove! They 
would say I had committed the murder. No, I owe 
it to the name of Ferrars, if I marry, to do so in 
such a way as would not besmirch the title, and I 
owe it to myself to marry the woman I can respect 
as well as love. And I ’m afraid if I did marry 
Laura, this whole business would rise up unpleas- 
antly before me. It wouldn’t be agreeable to have 
such a very clever wife. But how can I manage 
this ? I 11 give her any amount of mone)^, of course 
— as much, if she insists on it, as she would gain by 
marrying me ; but I must break the matter to her 
by letter. Once I am out of the country, 1 11 write 
and tell her I ’m engaged — engaged when I was a 
poor devil and never supposed I could ‘follow my in- 
clinations. Yes, that will do. But I wish it was 
over.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


The weeks following her father’s murder, Lady 
Madge had passed concealed at Mary Holmes’s cot- 
tage. The plan conceived by Lorrimer had suc- 
ceeded, as we have seen, and every one believed she 
had gone to London by way of Carew. 

She had passed through a terrible crisis, and was 
yet so weak that it was necessary for her still to be 
kept in ignorance of what was happening. Slowly 
and indistinctly her memory had returned, after 
she came out of the delirium in which she had lain, 
and seeing that she could not' be moved for some 
weeks, Lorrimer, who feared to quit her vicinity, 
although he knew his presence did not contribute 
to her safety, yet felt he must seek some lodging in 
the neighborhood, and wondered how he could do 
that without suspicion, when the good doctor, 
guessing his difficulty, insisted on his remaining 
with him. To him, Lorrimer had confided his love 
for Madge, his knowledge of her husband’s worth- 
lessness and his resolve to be to her as a brother, 
[98] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


99 


and to devote his life and fortune to her happiness. 

Such chivalrous devotion was so rare that the 
doctor conceived a warm friendship for the young 
man, and thus he remained as the doctor’s guest 
till Madge began to gain strength, and then some 
steps had to be taken, for it was impossible for her 
to be seen about Melford. The cloud of suspicion 
hanging over her, the humiliating circumstances, 
all would have gone far to retard recovery. Where 
could vShe go ? Her heart longed for Ireland where 
her childhood had been passed. They had only 
passed three months of each year at Melford and 
the rest in her own dear country. 

Lorrimer, finding her wish to go there so strong, 
decided to go to London to learn what he could of 
St. John, and whether there was a chance of him 
having any one on the watch at Bally reen, as a 
probable refuge for her. 

****** 

St. John had returned to London, as we have said, 
for before he could benefit by his marriage and by 
Cicely’s death, he must find his wife. If it had 
been a necessity before, it was doubly so now. The 
missing will undoubtedly made her heiress. He 
had been terribly uneasy when he found his wife 
had been on the terrace just before her father’s 
death, but the very fact of her non-appearance at 
the inquest told him that she did not mean to tell 
anything she might know, and he was at ease. For 
some reason best known to himself he had not 
sought to speak to Laura since the murder, although 
when he heard the will read he misunderstood, as 


lOO 


Yet She Loved Him. 


every one else did, her tactics, and he could not see 
that while appearing to work in his interest she had 
indirectly gained her own. But that last will, which 
he now knew was not the one which should have 
been abstracted, she had evidently known nothing 
of. If he could only find Madge ! He must and 
would do so. 

He began by doing what he had avoided during 
Lord Ferrars’s life, not wishing that nobleman to 
become aware that Lady Margaret was not living 
with him. He inserted an advertisement, asking 
that any information as to the whereabouts of Lady 
Madge Doyle, or St. John, might be communicated 
to him, and offering a liberal reward. And then he 
described her. For some days there was no an.swer, 
and Terry kept a vigilant watch for any that there 
might me, that he might warn Lady Madge, should 
she be in danger. He knew she had left Mecklen- 
burg Square, but expected she might come back un- 
less she had gone to Ireland ; and there, right near 
her own home, he had a friend who was warned to 
let him know if she arrived, so that he had little 
doubt if any information came he could put her on 
her guard. But fate was against him. 

Captain St. John sent Terry with a note to the 
far end of the town, about a week after the first 
advertisement appeared, and it was during his ab- 
sence that a woman came to the chambers, who 
said she had something to tell him. 

She informed him that she had been seamstress 
at Mrs. Mooney’s when a Miss Doyle had come 
there, brought by an Irish valet, but .she had seen 


Yet She Loved Him. 


lOI 


scraps of paper once, in the waste-basket, on which 
was written “ Madge.” From the moment this Miss 
Doyle came to the house she knew there was a 
mystery about her ; her trunks had come from Ire- 
land, and contained such clothing as only a lady of 
rank would have ; and when she saw the advertise- 
ment, she had seen at once who she was. She had 
gone away now, but would return. 

St. John listened carefully. 

“ Are those trunks still at the lodgings ?” he 
asked. 

“ Yes,” said the girl, whose name was Rachel 
Stone. 

“ Very well ; I have no doubt you are right. It 
is Lady Margaret St. John who has been lodging 
with Mrs. Mooney. Now here is one-half the 
promised reward ; you will get the other when 
you send me a telegram telling me she has re- 
turned, or that some one claims the trunks.” 

Rachel Stone took the money gladly, and was 
leaving, when St. John said : 

“ Stay ! Tell me what the Irishman was like who 
took her to Mrs. Mooney?” 

A sly smile crossed the girl’s lips as she said : 

“ It was Mrs. Mooney’s brother-in-law Terry, who 
lives with you, sir.” 

St. John rose. 

“ By Jove ! So that is it ! Well, my good girl, 
you have earned the money, and may earn more. 
Mind, not a word to Mrs. Mooney of what you have 
done !” 

“ No fear, sir ; I don’t want to lose my place.” 


102 


Yet She Loved Him. 


When she had left, St. John smiled maliciously. 

“ So that is it, and I have been hoodwinked by 
that Irish bogtrotter. Well, I will have the pleasure 
of making use of him. So long as he thinks he de- 
ceives me he will be quiet about wages, and I shall 
have the benefit of his services, and can frustrate 
his little plans. Decidedly I shall not send him 
away, but shall watch him. He is doubtless in 
communication with Madge, and I shall learn where 
she is. No ; he is more valuable now than ever.” 

It did not occur to St. John that Terry had merely 
acted all through from motives of manly pity, and 
had had no communication since her rescue by 
Lorrimer with either of them. He believed he was 
bribed to her interest. 

He hastily cast over in his mind the circumstances 
attending Cicely’s death. Was there anything in it 
that Terry could have known ? No, he was sure 
there was not. Pshaw ! Why did he always think 
of that? It always made him feel queer. He would 
go out and shake off this folly. He took his hat 
and sallied forth. He did not return till it was time 
to dress for dinner. The hall of the house in which 
he had chambers was long and handsome, with a 
lamp of painted glass swinging in the center, which 
cast a soft, dim light over everything. He entered 
as usual, when, to his surprise, he saw a woman’s 
figure gliding toward him, as if she had come down 
the stairs, although he had not seen her. She was 
handsomely dressed. He hardly looked at her face, 
for on the ungloved finger gleamed an emerald 
ring. The ring ! He staggered, and his eyes met 


Yet She Loved Him. 


103 


those of the woman. It was Cicely ? He sank into 
the nearest seat, his heart beating, his tongue cleav- 
ing to his mouth. With a shudder he had averted 
his eyes, and yet he felt he must raise them, must 
know ivhat he had seen. He summoned a desperate 
courage and looked. There was nothing — no sign 
of that awful presence. Had he been dreaming? 
He got up and shook himself. He had been a vic- 
tim to an optical illusion. His nerves must be in a 
terrible state. He must put himself under treat- 
ment. He went slowly up the stairs, his knees still 
trembling. He devoutly hoped that Terry would 
not be still absent. No ; he heard him inside. He 
heaved a sigh of relief and entered. He looked 
keenly at his valet, who, clothes-brush in hand, 
stood unconscious apparently of scrutiny. 

“ Terry, has any one been here ? Who was that 
woman who went down just now ?” he asked, 
sharply. 

“ A woman, sir ?” asked Terry, innocently. “ What 
woman ?” 

“ Don’t repeat my words, fellow ! I suppose a 
woman for some one else.” 

Rarely did Captain St. John lose his temper thus, 
but he told himself his nerves were completely un- 
strung. 




CHAPTER XIIL 

A month passed and no message came from 
Mecklenburg Square, and St. John began to fear 
that Madge would never send for her property. 
Yet she was poor now, and no doubt all her girlish 
treasures, her mother’s portrait, her jewels, all were 
there ; and as she would still think she could claim 
them without risk, he hardly thought she would let 
them go. And he was right. One day a telegram 
was brought to him from Rachel Stone. Only the 
words : 

Gentlemen here for trunks.” 

But he knew what it meant. He seized his hat 
and rushed out. Hailing a hansom cab, he told the 
man he should have double fare if he reached Meck- 
lenburg Square in ten minutes. 

A gentleman ! Who could that be ? Had she 
friends unknown to him ? It must be the rector of 
Melford. There was danger in the thought that 
she might have a strong, true friend. He hoped 
everything from her forlorn condition. Disgraced, 
homeless, friendless, he believed, could he once 
meet her, her love would overcome her resentment ; 
that it was knowledge of her weakness that kept 
her away ; but with a friend to strengthen her res- 
[104] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


105 


olution he had cause to fear. He reached Mrs. 
Mooney’s house within half an hour of the time the 
telegram had been sent, but the trunks had been 
taken away. Rachel Stone, who had been looking 
out for him, met him before he could ring the bell, 
and said : 

“ You are too late, but I will find out who the gent 
is that came for the trunks. I know him by, sight. 

I will send word to-night.” 

With this he was forced to be satisfied. 

The same evening he got a note from Rachel 
telling him the gentleman was named Lorrimer, 
and had been living at a house opposite Mrs. 
Mooney’s for the latter part of the time Lady 
Madge was stopping there ; that she had frequently 
seen him watch Miss Doyle out of this hou.se and 
follow her. 

“ Lorrimer ! Lorrimer ! Who could have thought 
it ! The fool was in love with her I knew, but this 
kind of thing is rather too much ! Look out, my 
friend Lorrimer, or you will find younself in danger 
before you know it. You must not interfere with 
my business.” 

To find where Lorrimer was would be compara- 
tively easy ; he had doubtless omitted to take any 
special precaution, not anticipating that he would 
be suspected of aiding Madge. He went directly 
to the American Exchange and found as he ex- 
pected that Lorrimer had ordered his letters to be 
sent on, and the address was Queen’s Hotel, Dublin. 

Dublin ! Then Madge was in Ireland, or going 
there, that was the best thing he knew of yet for 


io6 


Yet She Loved Him. 


his plans. He had reason for knowing that in 
Ireland he could do more than he could in England 
— for reasons the reader will see later. 

He was a little "afraid of Terry, yet he' was too 
self-indulgent and too lazy to go without his valet, 
so he decided to take him, and to trust to his own 
ingenuity to render him harmless. 

* * * * * 

Meanwhile, Madge had slowly got over her ill- 
ness, but she emerged from her sick-room a sadly 
changed creature. Her wealth of golden hair had 
been cut off, and now it rippled round her head 
•like a close-cropped boy’s, her radiant look of health 
and spirit had given place to a camellia-like pallor, 
and her great eyes, always the feature of her face, 
were now full of a pathetic light. So changed was 
she, that it seemed safe for her to go to Exeter and 
stay a few days before taking the longer journey to 
Ireland. 

Doctor Gray agreed to take her after dark in his 
brougham, and Jennie Holmes was to accompany 
her as maid, and thus it was done, and then Lorri- 
mer went to London and got her trunks, and, that 
errand accomplished, he returned to the hotel, 
where, as a friend of Doctor Gray, Lady Madge 
was staying. * 

During this month it could hardly be that Madge 
would see Lorrimer’s absolute devotion to her, and 
not guess at something of the true state of his feel- 
ings, and this was very terrible to her. She could 
not help liking him, being almost painfully grateful, 
but of love she dare never think again, even if she 


Yet She Loved Him. 


107 


was not the legal wife of St. John. How could she 
ever love again, she who for love’s sake was a 
wreck. Life for her was done ; her remaining days 
must be a slow vegetation, in which she would ex- 
piate her ingratitude to her father ! She had not 
been strong enough to insist on Lorrimer returning 
to London, and leaving her to fight alone her battle 
with fate, but now she was going back to her own 
land where she could count on humble and faithful 
friends even if her equals should turn away from 
her. For this there should be no chance. As plain 
Miss Doyle she would live so obscurely that she' 
would go through life unnoticed, unconnected with 
the unhappy girl whose name had been a byword 
throughout England for weeks. 

Lorrimer returned, and when he came to the 
hotel to tell Madge that her property was below, he 
was struck by the new look of strength in her face. 

“ Mr. Lorrimer, how can I ever thank you for 
your very great kindness. I have no words to ex- 
press my sense of — ” 

“ Dear Lady Madge, I ask nothing better than to 
serve you without thanks.” 

“Then I will say nothing,” she said, her woman’s 
instinct telling her he was ready to burst forth with 
words she was afraid to hear. “ I will not thank 
you, but as I may not see you again before I leave 
for Dublin, I want to tell you that I shall never 
cease to be grateful — ” 

“ But,” he said, in consternation, “ you do not 
mean that you will not let me go with you, to see 
you safely there ?” 


o8 


Yet She Loved Him, 


“ Mr. Lorrimer, how can I accept such kindness 
at your hands — it is impossible.” 

The idea that she was going away, going hence- 
forth to be independent of him, loosed the pent-up 
flood-gate of his soul. All prudence was gone. He 
must lay his life at her feet, show her how useless 
it was to him unless she made it useful. He had 
been a hundred times lately on the point of giving 
way to the longing for expression that possessed 
him, but refrained, for fear of losing the blessing 
he had and being banished from her presence. 
Passion now broke down everything before it. 

“ Why can you not ? Because the only pleasure 
and happiness I have is in being useful to you. My 
life to me is worthless, has been ever since I knew 
you loved a villain and I had no right to love you. 
But now you need me. Oh, use me ! Let me stand 
between you and the world ! I ask no reward, 
scarcely a kind word! You love that man still, I 
know. I will not offend you even by speaking of 
him or blaming you for your wasted affection. But 
you need a friend. Try to think of me as a brother, 
and I will never remind you I am not one. I swear 
it ! Only do not order me to go where I cannot see 
you.” 

Madge was stupefied by this torrent of words, but 
still more perhaps by the manner in which they were 
uttered. The shaking voice, the subtle atmosphere 
of passion, affected her in spite of herself, and she 
felt the tears rise to her eyes as she realized what 
devotion this was, thrown away. What happiness 
it might have been had her heart not been so 


Yet She Loved Him. 


109 


perverse, which is only another name for “hu- 
man.” 

“ Mr. Lorrimer, I cannot — you must know that I 
cannot — accept such devotion as you offer, such a 
sacrifice of all your interests,” she said. But the 
words to herself sounded formal and cold, and she 
was not aware that her eyes made up for what her 
words lacked. 

“ Do not talk of my interests,” he broke in pas- 
sionately. “ Think only of my pleasure and happi- 
ness. I neglect no duty in devoting'myself to your 
happiness. I have no relations, no ties, and it is the 
only chance of pleasure life holds for me.” 

What was she to do ? She could not ac-cept ; neither 
could she bear to inflict pain. 

“ You put me in a very painful position, Mr. Lor- 
rimer. I could not — no woman could — allow such 
— such self-sacrifice,” she faltered tremulously. 

“ But,” he said, sadly, “the sacrifice is made ; it 
depends not on you or myself. I tried hard to live 
down my folly and failed. There is no other way 
for me to do. I must stay near you, snatching such 
brief pleasures as I can, or I shall become a wan- 
derer on the face of the earth. But say nothing, 
only let me see you as far as Dublin. The city is a 
beautiful one. I have many acquaintances, reason 
enough for my being there, and I will not intrude 
on you. I swear I shall be no sighing lover, worry- 
ing you with my woes, but just a true friend, at 
hand when you call on me. You have two bitter 
enemies. I will defend you, and never again will I 
remind you that I love you ! I worship you !” 


I lO 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Poor Madge did not love him. No, no, of course 
not ; but it was not unpleasant to her wounded heart 
to know that even if the man on whom she had lav- 
ished her affection cared only for her father’s gold, 
here was one at least who loved her for herself. 

“ You are very kind,” she said, with sweet tremu- 
lous lips. 

He sprang eagerly toward her. 

“And you consent? You will let me go with 
you ?” 

“ I must,” she said, smiling, though her eyes were 
still moist. 

He snatched her hand and pressed his lips eagerly 
on it. 

“ Bless you, bless you !” he said. “ You have 
made me happy !” 

He dared trust himself no longer but left the 
room, while Madge looked at her hand still red 
from his ardent kiss, as- she muttered, with some- 
thing of her old archness : 

“ I hope he will not want to do that again ; it 
would never do to have him around.” 




CHAPTER XIV. 

Laura Perceval was seated in the luxurious little 
drawing-room of the villa in which she had arranged 
to reside until she should become Lady Ferrars. 
Gerald had gone on the continent, but before doing 
so, had placed a thousand pounds at her disposal, 
and she had already entered on its enjoyment. She 
was handsomely lodged and beautifully dressed, but 
an expression of anxious discontent was on her 
handsome face, an open letter was in her hand, 
vrhich she read and reread. 

“ He is playing me false. There is foundation 
for the rumor. I know it by the tameness of his 
denial. Ah, if there is justice in heaven he shall 
bitterly repent it if he plays with me ; but the best 
way in which to avoid that is to have him in my 
power. I must know the contents of that other 
will, but to do so I must see Lawrence. I believe, if 
I gave him a round sum, he will let me know it. It 
can’t prejudice him to do so, though he professes to 
know nothing of it. But that, of course, means 
nothing. And if it is against Gerald, I will take 
care it shall be proved, unless he marries me ; and 

[III] 


I I 2 


Ye I She Loved Him. 


if he does, then— then— well, then it shall never be 
brought to light. But if he marries this girl in de- 
fiance of me, then he shall be cast out of his affluent 
ease, and I — Well, I will make a bargain with 
Lawrence. Oh, but it must not come to that !” she 
muttered. “ He must marry me ! I love him too well ! 
I cannot live without him ; and, if I know him 
rightly, he will never lose that money.” 

She sat down to her davenport and wrote a note 
as follows : 

I 

“ Dear Lawrence : Call on me as soon as convenient. I 
think the interview may be mutually serviceable. Laura. 

Captain St. John, on getting this note, which he 
did on the very day after he found Lorrimer was 
Madge’s friend, did not delay an instant in setting 
out for the address indicated. He hoped for certain 
news of Madge, and believed Laura was more likely 
thaii any one else to have it. 

He and Laura, since that fatal night, had not met 
alone. He did, not dream of her passionate love for 
Gerald, or indeed that there had ever been love- 
passages between them : for, with her own ends in 
view, she had carefully kept her secret from him ; 
and he had been obliged, on finding that so small a 
legacy was left to her, to give up his once conceived 
theory that she had worked in her own interest 
against his ; but, at the same time, she had not kept 
her promise to him, and he distrusted her. Another 
thing, he dreaded to be alone with her. He feared 
her questions. She must who had killed Lord 
Ferrars ; but he could not bear to see her, knowing 
she knew it. But, to some extent, this feeling had 


Yet She Loved Him. 


113 


worn off now, and to find Madge was of paramount 
importance. True, he believed that he had the 
clue ; but he was not sure, and perhaps Laura could 
aid in getting possession of her if he failed ; but he 
would try alone first. 

Knowing nothing of Gerald having given her 
money, he expected to find her living either as 
governess or companion to some one or else subsist- 
ing on her legacy till she should find employment. 
But in both conjectures he found himself wrong. 
The house in which he found her was neither the 
handsome residence of a family likely to need the 
services of so costly an appendage as Miss Perceval 
would be, nor was it the sort of economical respect- 
able one in which a governess seeking a position 
would probably lodge. It was a pretty villa with 
that indescribable air of festive rurality peculiar to 
the houses of prosperous Bohemians, houses in 
which, if the shades are sometimes a little awry, 
the birds seem always in song, the piano always in 
tune, and when touched at all, touched with mas- 
terly fingers, no sweetly tinkling boarding-school 
pieces, and where the flowers seem ever to bloom 
in the garden and to fill the air of the house inside. 
It was a house like hundreds of others in St. John’s 
Wood. 

Inside it was as cosy as the outside was pretty. 
He had scarcely time to note this, when Laura 
entered, exquisitely dressed, as usual. And looking 
at her, remembering that a very few weeks of such 
life would absorb her small legacy, he began to 
have doubts of her, but in this he wronged her ; a 


Yet She Loved Him, 


1 14 


bad, unscrupulous woman was Laura, not a frail 
one. 

‘‘ Lawrence,” she said, I want to know as you 
are about town so much, if you have heard anything 
about Lord Ferrars.” 

Not much, since that terrible time.” 

It was terrible, wasn’t it — and,” she said, looking 
at him steadily, was it not most strange about that 
missing will ?” 

“ Very.” 

I should think, Lawrence, 5^ou would be very 
anxious to know its contents ; it might have rein- 
stated your wife in her rights.” 

“ It would do me no good if it did,” said Lawrence, 
uneasily. He did not like the topic, although, of 
course, Laura was not like any one else. My wife 
chooses to put herself out of the way of any good 
of that sort.” 

“ Oh, but if it. were once sure she was heiress, 
she might come forward and claim her rights. It 
is a sad pity it can’t be found. You say you have 
heard but little of Lord Ferrars. Have you heard 
that he is soon coming back to England ? That is 
a change of programme.” 

“ Yes ; and also that he is head over heels in love 
with his fiancee i' 

Ah ! Laura’s hand went quickly to her heart, but 
she said the next moment, with apparent calmness : 

“ His fiancee ! I have heard some gossip about a 
Miss Jerningham, but I thought it only talk.” 

“ Oh, no ; it is serious. He was understood to 
be engaged to her last summer before we went to 


Yet She Loved Him, 


115 


Dublin, but he was too poor then to think of mar- 
riage. Now I know for certain the engagement 
has been proclaimed at Nice, where her family is. 
I have a friend who has just come from there.” 

Laura had become very pale, but, in the soft, 
rose-tinted light, her pallor could not be seen, even 
had St. John been less preoccupied than he was, 
but her voice was stiff and hard as she said : 

“ It would be strange if that will ever should be 
found, and he by it be deprived of all but his empty 
title. Miss Jerningham is quite poor, I hear?” 

Something in Laura’s tone — in her glittering 
eyes — aroused Lawrence to a sense that there was 
more in this conversation than appeared on the sur- 
face, and he said : 

“ Yes ; a penniless girl of rank, I believe. I sup- 
pose to any one sufficiently interested there might 
be ways and means of learning the contents of the 
will.” 

“ No doubt,” she said, with a suspicion of mockery 
in her tone. “ Well, I confess I am interested, and 
so must you be. Pshaw, Lawrence, why should you 
and I beat about the bush? You have your secret 
— keep it. I have mine, which I am now going to 
tell you in a few words. I want vengeance ! In 
helping me to it you can help yourself ; therefore I 
can count on your forgetting any little thing in it 
which may seem as if I had forgotten your interests 
for those of another. I will atone for that. 

“Gerald Doyle loved me before you ever saw 
Lady Margaret ; he could not marry me because he 
was too poor. I was determined he should not long 


Yet She Loved Him, 


1 16 


remain so. I wrote to you, suggested you should 
make his acquaintance and manage to get an invi- 
tation to visit Ballyreen. I knew your success with 
women. I wanted Lady Madge out of the way — to 
marry against her father’s commands — and I fos- 
tered her girlish admiration for your good looks, 
and told her that I knew you by reputation as one 
of the most chivalrous of men. You know the rest. 
I need not go into details. You see my plan. When 
Gerald knew he was rich, he renewed his vows to 
me, though, I must confess, not very ardently ; how- 
ever, he promised as soon as the year of mourning 
was over we should be married. He went off to 
Nice to spend the intervening time, but now I hear 
these rumors, although it is not two months since he 
went, and each letter has become cooler and cooler, 
and this last one mentions an entanglement which 
may alter his plans, which he will explain in his 
next ; this is evidently to prepare me for his in- 
tended treachery. 

“ But I am not a woman to be lightly cast off like 
that, and I will do anything to hurl him down from 
his present position. I think if that will were found 
it would do it. He left me a sum of money to pro- 
vide for me, as he said, till our marriage. And I 
will give a couple of hundred pounds to know the 
contents of that will.” 

Lawrence had gone through a variety of emotions 
during her recital ; resentment, surprise and now 
elation, for just as he was wondering how to re- 
plenish his depleted purse in order to go to Ireland, 
this windfall came in his way. 


Yet She Loved Him. 


117 


“ Two hundred pounds would do a great deal 
with an attorney’s clerk, and Mr. Dean’s clerk is no 
doubt informed of the contents of the will.” 

“ Two hundred pounds will do a great deal with 
any one in want of money,” said Laura. “ But you 
must take it in hand. It must be your interest as 
well as mine, for you no doubt suppose Madge 
gains by it. Do this business for me, and I will 
pay all expenses, provided it does not exceed two 
hundred pounds. I could not afford more. And 
once we know thfe contents, I ’ve a pretty good idea 
that it will be found when wanted.” 

“ Perhaps you know where it is,” said Law- 
rence. 

“ Perhaps I can guess, but all I now want is to 
know its contents. I wonder,” she said, maliciously, 
‘‘you never wanted to do that yourself.” 

Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Without my wife, of what use would it be ; and 
besides, no doubt, everything would be tied up so 
well that I should be a dependent on her charity.” 

“ But her charity would no doubt be great,” said 
Laura. “ Have you no clue yet ?” 

Lawrence reflected. Laura had been treacherous 
in the past, but henceforth her strongest passion 
would be vengeance, and he, and he alone, could 
help her. He would trust her, for she might be- 
come of infinite use to him. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I fancy I at last know where she 
is going to be, and I have to watch in Ireland for 
her.” 

“ Ah !" 


ii8 


Yel She Loved Him. 


“ Yes.” He then told her what he had discovered. 
“ And,” he added, “ if I need your aid, will you 
come ?” 

“ I will. Henceforth we are in the same boat. I 
suppose we understand each other, and that you will 
need the ‘ sinews of war ?’ ” Going to her daven- 
port she wrote for a moment ; then handing him a 
slip, she said : “ There is a check for half the 
amount ; the remainder I will pay when I get the 
information.” 

As Lawrence placed it in his pocket-book he 
heard a delicious voice singing below. 

Do you lodge here ?” he asked. 

“Yes ; I have this drawing-floor. A lady, a pro- 
fessional singer, owns the house.” 

As Lawrence descended the stairs the singing 
ceased. He was entirely engrossed in his own 
thoughts, or he would have noticed an open door, 
and in the room a lady, who, catching sight of him 
as he passed it, started violently, rushed to the win- 
dow and watched him get into the hansom in wait- 
ing. This lady wore Cicely’s fatal ring. 

Laura had looked after him contemptuously. 

“ As if I could suppose he did not know the con- 
tents of that will ! Go to Dublin ? Of couse, I will ; 
but not, perhaps, to help him. But he may help 
me. Once Madge is with me, and I am once more 
her best friend, to stand between her and her hus- 
band ; and then with that will found or in my 
power, as I intend, it shall be to find or not to find. 
I will see whether my Lord Ferrars will marry the 
penniless girl of rank or the woman who can make 


Yet She Loved Him. 


119 


him either rich or poor as she may please ; and I 
haven’t much to doubt which he will choose.” 

Her bosom swelled with exultation at*the thought, 
but her self-communings were interrupted by a tap 
at the door, and then there entered either Cicely or 
some one so like her that none could tell them 
apart. 




CHAPTER XV. 

Terry, pack up my traps. I am going to Dub- 
lin.” 

Terry’s eyes grew wide with joy. To Dublin. 
He packed with a will, and St. John and he started 
the day after the former had discovered Lorrimer 
was going to Ireland. 

No sooner had they reached the city than he 
made such inquiries as assured him Lorrimer had 
not arrived, and then he watched every incoming 
train from England ; and it was not till two days 
after that he saw Lorrimer helping her he called 
his wife, much changed, but still recognizable to 
one expecting her, out of a first-class carriage. He 
watched them get into a side-car, and, hailing one 
himself, he followed them to a hotel, and then, 
entering it, he engaged a room and entered his 
name just after they had left the office. He saw only 
“ Miss Doyle and maid.” He knew men of Lorri- 
mer’s temperament well enough to know so long 
[ 1 20 ] 


Yet She Loved Him, 


121 


as he kept himself informed of his whereabouts he 
would be not far from Madge ; and then he waited 
in the coffee-room till he saw Lorrimer leave, and 
followed him to the Queen’s, where he himself was 
staying. Once there, he sat down to think out his 
plans. . 

Possession of Madge. was to be his first step ; then 
the abstracted will, which alone made that posses- 
sion an object, must be accidentally found at Melford. 
Unless her love for him should be dead, which he 
did not fear, he believed he could reconquer her, 
overcome her jealousy of Cicely and make her live 
with him. Of what she might have seen at Mel- 
ford he had only a vagu^ idea. Had he not tied 
his silk handkerchief over his head and face before 
coming from behind that curtain in such a way 
that only his eyes were visible? No; even if she 
had seen she would not recognize him. He believed 
her reason for going away and keeping silence 
might be because, believing herself no wife, she 
covered with shame. Yet he hesitated to go to 
her. There was the possibility that she did know. 
Pshaw ! Was it not more probable, when he should 
go to her and convince her, as he meant to do, that 
she was actually his wife, that the girl she had 
overheard was only an old acquaintance who per- 
sisted in annoying him, that she would be overcome 
with joy and gratitude ? And, if not, the law was 
on his side. As to Lorrimer, she was too young 
and beautiful to have a champion of his age. 
Could he not justify anything he might find it 
necessary to do by pointing out the fact that she 


122 


Vet She Loved Him, 


had left him, her husband, and reached Dublin 
with another man ? If she wanted to defy him, 
surely he had a good story against her. 

At all events now he knew where she was. Why 
delay going to her ? His finances would soon be 
again in a low state, and he must replenish them. 
He had had a stroke of luck with cards after getting 
Laura’s hundred pounds. He at first — until Lord 
Ferrars’s will was read — had ample credit on the 
strength of his marriage, which he was careful to 
make known, and equally careful to conceal the fact 
that he had never lived one hour with his wife ; but 
he had lost that now, and he had so much to spend 
to bolster his credit that he saw the day near when 
he would be in a debtor’s prison unless he could get 
a great deal of money. It was getting on toward 
night, yet he seized his hat and went to the hotel 
where Madge was, and asked for her as Miss 
Doyle. 

To Madge there could be but one gentleman who 
would ask for her by that name ; and although she 
had been resting on the couch, she rose to receive 
Lorrimer, as she supposed, wondering what could 
bring him. Unsuspiciously she entered the sitting- 
room, and there standing, his back to the light, was 
the man whose wife she feared she was. 

For a moment she seemed struck to stone. Then, 
when he came toward her with outstretched arms 
and face full of tender reproach and uttered her 
name, she drew back. 

“ No, no ; do not touch me ! How dare you come ? 
How dare you ?’ 


Yet She Loved Him. 


123 


“ Dare ! Madge, my wife, what do you mean ?” 

'' Mean ! Wife ! Oh, it cannot be that I am your 
wife ! It cannot be !” she said wildly. * 

“ My little Madge,” he said, advancing toward 
her, “ I come to explain that terrible mistake. You 
heard, unhappily, a woman who has been the bane 
of my existence. I once promised, when a school- 
boy, to marry her, and did not keep the promise. 
You can guess the rest.” 

Oh, don’t tell me that ! Oh, to be the wife of 
my father’s murderer ! Anything — any fate, any 
shame — rather than that !” 

It was said. And he knew the worst. Madge 
had chosen war. He turned white, and then he said : 

“Yes, you are my wife, and I, as your husband, 
shall keep you near me for the future. Remember, 
whatever you say about your father’s death will be 
but the ravings of a lunatic. Now, madam, I am 
going down to register your right name on the 
books. If you make any fuss, I publish the fact of 
your elopement with Lorrimer. I have a room in 
this house already, but I think, as our means are 
limited, this suite will be sufficient. Reflect, accept 
the inevitable gracefully, and you will not find me 
a bad husband. Kick against it, and you will find 
me your master.” 

His tone was low, for he meant to seem a kind, 
forbearing husband to outsiders ; but Madge heard 
him and shuddered. ■ She was still weak from her 
recent illness, and it seemed now as if she must 
faint, and yet she dared not be helpless in this 
man’s presence. 


124 


Yet She Loved Him. 


He walked across the room and entered her cham-. 
her. A burning blush rose to her cheek. She was 
such a mere girl that the idea of a man entering her 
room filled her with dismay ; but she remembered 
this man was her husband. Ah, frightful truth ! 
And in despair she saw him enter. It was the sign 
of his power over her. He returned. 

“You have a maid. I will get a room in the 
house for her. Where is she ?” 

Madge made no answer. Jennie was at her tea, 
and she was wishing she would return. It seemed 
as if the presence of any third person would be 
something to cling to, to save her ; so she hardly 
heard St. John’s question. He did not repeat it,^ 
but went downstairs, locking the door after 
him. 

Jennie, sitting at her tea in the hotel room de- 
signed for valets and maids, was somewhat startled 
by seeing that a good-looking young man seated 
opposite her was looking at her with very evident 
admiration. Jennie was pretty, and knew it. Terry, 
for he was the good-looking admirer, had an eye to 
beauty, and he was thinking how bright her com- 
plexion was and how white her teeth, when an el- 
derly lady’s-maid, evidently familiar with the house, 
who had just come down, said : 

“We are likely to have some excitement in the 
house, I hear. It seems Miss Doyle is, after all, the 
Lady Margaret St. John we have all heard so much 
about ; and her husband has just found her out. I 
met him coming from the office, and as nice and 
gentlemanly a man as ever you see he is.” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


125 


Terry had hastily put down his cup, ejaculating^ 
under his breath : 

“ Be me sowl, an’ that ’s what we ’re here for?” 

He observed that more than one of the Abigails, 
present had looked at Jennie, and one said : “ Your 
lady is a pretty vsly one.” And he knew then she 
was Lady Madge’s maid. 

Jennie rose, trembling, and said : 

“ I think I shall be needed ; Lady Margaret has 
been very ill and can ’t be left.” 

Terry rose also, and, by a coincidence they met 
in the long, dark corridor leading to the stairs go- 
ing up. 

“I beg pardon, miss,” said Terry, in his best 
manner, “ but I ’m a friend of your swate lady, an’ 
it was mesilf got her away before from that vill’in 
who ’s me master. If there’s anything I can do, let 
me know it unbeknownst to any one.” 

“ Oh, I am glad. She has need of friends, but 
she has one true friend here, if I could only send to 
him.” 

“ I ’m your man. I’ll not be wanted in a hurry, 
an’ if I was I wouldn’t care.” 

“ Oh, thank you.” She then gave the card Lor- 
rimer had given her in case of emergency. “ Will 
you go to that gentleman and tell him all you 
know ?” 

“ That will I in a jiffy, for your sake and the sake » 
of that swate, ill-used craythur !” 



CHAPTER XVL 

The lady who had knocked on Laura’s door after 
St. John left her was the one who owned the house, 
the professional singer, Mrs. Mortimer. The two 
were in very pleasant relations as landlady an d lodger. 
Laura, in spite of her wicked heart, could be very 
fascinating and attractive to both men and women, 
and the young widow was lovely, and had taken a 
fancy to her lodger. 

Dear Miss Perceval,” .she said, as she entered, 
her eyes full of excitement, “ will you excuse a 
question I must ask 

“ Ask a dozen. I will answer them if I can.” 

“ Who is that gentleman who has just gone out ? 
Ah, if you knew what I could tell you, if it is the 
one I think, you would never receive him again.” 

Laura smiled. 

“ I know a great many things about that gentle- 
man. He is Captain St. John.” 

“ Yes, yes ; I knew it was. Oh, the villain ! The 
villain !” 

“ Tell me what you mean !” 

But, if he is a friend of yours— though can he 
be any honest woman’s friend ?” she said bitterly. 

[126] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


127 


“ Never mind my friendship ; that would sustain 
a strong shock, I assure you.” 

“ Well, then, I will tell you a cruel story in as 
few words as possible : 

“ My mother, myself and my two sisters lived on 
the bank of the Isis not far from Oxford, and my 
mother, being very fond of having us admired, and 
believing by our beauty we would make fine mar- 
riages, in spite of our lack of education, used to 
dress us well and allow us great liberty. My sister 
and I were alike enough to be twins, and were con- 
stantly taken one for the other. Well, foolish as 
my mother’s calculations were, in my case they were 
partly justified — that is, I married a gentleman far 
above me in social rank. But as my father had 
only been a respectable Oxford tradesman, and had 
left my mother just enough to live on, that was a 
very easy matter. But Mr. Mortimer, though of 
good family, had very little money. However, he 
got an appointment abroad, and I went with him. 
Soon after my marriage, my sister became ac- 
quainted with a young man named St. John. He was 
visiting Oxford, and some of the students, several 
of whom knew us, brought him to our house while 
boating, and, to m.ake a long story short, he fell in 
love with my sister, and she with him ; and one day 
she disappeared. For years we heard nothing of 
her ; then came a letter, after my mother died, to 
me. I had returned to England then. My hus- 
band had died, and I was preparing to make use of 
my one gift — my voice — to make my living. Cicely, 
in her letter, told me she was married, but was very 


128 


Yet She Loved Him. 


unhappy, and she was on the eve of starting foi 
Canada, where her husband was going with his 
regiment ; and she hoped, when she had him there, 
he would treat her better. She begged me, by the 
old tender love, to write to her and address her as 
‘ Mrs. Varley, Toronto, Canada.’ Her husband, she 
stated, was unable to acknowledge his marriage till 
the death of an old uncle ” [Laura smiled at this 
figment] “ on whom his future prospects depended. 
I heard next from her, telling me her husband’s 
regiment had been ordered home ; but he had taken 
her to New York, and liked the people and city so 
much he meant to sell out and return. She wrote 
more hopefully and said he was much kinder to 
her. I had other letters from New York, still 
speaking hopefully of his rejoining her ; but as the 
time went by and he did not sell out of his regi- 
ment nor return to her, I suppose she lost patience 
and came over, for she loved him dearly. The next 
I heard of her was a letter from London, telling me 
she had just seen St. John, that he had been very 
kind and glad to see her and that he h^d given her 
a ring. 

“ ‘ Which I send you, dear sister, for I am not feeling well, 
and such a ring is not safe in these lodgings. Besides, if St. 
John get short of money, he may ask for it again, and I don’t 
want to give it. So keep it till I come and see you, which will be 
directly I feel better.’ ” 

Mrs. Mortimer had read from a letter, which she 
now returned to her pocket, *and continued ; 

“ I was then living at Henley, and had repeatedh 
begged her to leave New York and live with me, 


MY FATHER IS DEAD ! I AM SURE OF IT V'—See Page 69. 










I 


t ' 


* 


\ 



Yet She Loved Him. 


1 29 


and rejoiced at her return. ^ I did not answer the 
letter at once, for I meant to go to her if she did 
not come in a day or two. And then I got news of 
her death ! And the few things belonging to her 
were sent by ‘ Mr. Varley,’ and a note, not speaking 
of her as his wife, but as ‘ your sister.’ I went at 
once to London to the lodgings, and found the 
woman of the house knew my sister and St. John 
only as ‘ Mr. and Mrs. Varley,’ and it seemed evi- 
dent to me that the woman with whom, it seemed, 
my sister had lodged years before, had never re- 
garded her as a married woman. She told me, too, 
of ‘ Mr. Varley ’ having taken supper with Cicely 
the night before she was taken ill, and how jolly 
they had been together, and my poor sister’s hap- 
piness in the thought that he loved her still, and 
then her sudden and strange death. I had doubts 
then, and I swore never to lose sight of the man, 
who, whether she met foul play or not, was certainly 
her murderer, for he led her a life of misery, poor 
soul ! Then came the inquest on Lord Ferrars’s 
death and the disclosure of St. John’s marriage to 
Lady Margaret Doyle. And then I knew if my 
sister was really married to him that he must have 
been guilty of bigamy, and that his fear of her pro- 
claiming herself might have led him to poison her. 
I have no proof, for the doctor said my poor sister 
certainly died of heart-disease, but I knoiv he poi- 
soned her, and I shall never rest till I have avenged 
her! 

I went to his chambers to inquire where he was 
— for I did not know — and I saw his valet, and I 


130 


Yel She Loved Him. 


found he took me for Cicely, and I allowed him to 
think wSO, because I learned, from what he said, that 
my sister had been there and had caused trouble to 
Lady Margaret, and the man seemed to be much 
more anxious to learn that I was his master’s actual 
, wife than that I was not. It was not my wish to 
see the villain till I had matured my plans, but 
coming downstairs, I saw a gentleman enter — in- 
stinct told me it was St. John. I passed, and looked 
him full in the face, and saw him turn white and 
stagger and sink into a seat. He thought he had 
seen a ghost. Now you know all, and on coming to 
think, I suppose you are the Miss Perceval so often 
mentioned in that case of Lord Ferrars’s murder.” 

“Yes, I am,” said Laura, “and it may be that 
some day I can help you to your vengeance on St. 
John.” 

“ Do that, and I ’ll do anything for you,” said 
Mrs. Mortimer. 

The next evening Laura got a letter from St. 
John, as follows : 

Dear Laura : I have learned contents of will. Gerald is 
left one thousand pounds a year. Madge two thousand pounds 
per annum, and the bulk of the property to go to her children, 
should she have any, or in case of her surviving me, to go to 
her. In the event of her death, the whole goes to charity. Your 
legacy is repeated. I am about to start for Ireland, for I must 
find Madge. If you will aid me, you may be well avenged, and 
enriched, too.” 

“ I must go to Ireland, too,” muttered Laura. 
“ Madge must be as much in my power as his.” 

That evening she started for Dublin. 



CHAPTER XVIL 

When Lorrimer heard from Terry that St. John 
was with Lady Madge, he was for a moment full of 
despair. What could he do ? What power had he 
against her husband ? 

“ What is to be done to save her?” he muttered 
half aloud, oblivious of the fact that Terry stood 
before him. 

Well, sir,” said Terry, as composedly as if the 
question had been addressed to him, “ I ’m your 
man for anything you want to do. It w’u’d not be 
the first time Terry McCarthy has helped to get 
that lady out of a hole, as you will see if you look 
at me.” 

Lorrimer turned quickly. 

“ Are you the good fellow who took pity on her 
and helped me at Victoria? Of course you are. I 
see now. How do you do ?” he said, shaking hands. 

“ I am that same,” said Terry, modestly. 

“ Then I shall rely on you to help me again. But 
what can any one do against her husband ? I ’d lay 
down my life for her, but of what avail?” 

“ Whisht ! I ’m none so sure that he is her 
husband.” 

[131J 


132 


Yet She Loved Hwi. 


“ What !” shouted Lorrimer. “ What do you 
say ?” 

Terry then related the story of Cicely, and then 
said : 

“ Poor lady ! She felt so awful bad to be a wife, 
and just no wife at all, that I told her, to comfort 
her, that the young woman was one av them sort 
as call themselves wives whether they are or no ; 
and she belaved me. But — heaven forgive me — I 
didn’t belave it meself whin I said it, for the capt’in 
w’u’d never have been so scared if she hadn’t 
some hold on him ; and more betoken, I ’ve heard 
worse about that same.” 

But Lorrimer did not hear his last words. Not 
his wife ! Was it possible Madge might not be 
married ! The thought was almost too joyful. He 
feared to entertain it, the reverse would be so great. 
But, wife or no wife, something had to be done that 
very night to relieve her. Lorrimer begged Terry 
to keep watch, and the moment she was alone to 
get her from the hotel and take her in a carriage 
to a place agreed on, and to get Jennie’s cooperation. 
Lorrimer would remain where he was. He began 
to see how his being near her might compromise 
her. 

Terry promised faithfully to do as he was directed, 
but he did not take into account the fact that St. 
John was fully on his guard against him. 

When he reached the hotel he found Jennie was 
looking out for him. . She was weeping, and told 
him Mr. St. John had just paid her wages and dis- 
missed her ; that Lady Madge had in vain wept 


Yet She Loved Him. 


133 


and entreated him to let her remain ; he had re- 
fused. 

“ And what can I do?” she tearfully asked. 

“ Ah, the villain ! Well, there’s on’y wan thing 
yez can do — stick to yer lady’s interests, if yer can’t 
to herself. Now go off to Mr. Lorrymore and ax 
him for his advice, me darlint.” 

Jennie thought this such a good idea that she 
started off. Had she waited a few minutes she 
might have had some other information to give. 

Terry went to Mr. St. John’s rooms, but found he 
had changed and was in those engaged for Lady 
Madge. Thither he repaired. At the door he was 
met by St. John, who said : 

I find you have played me false, you scoundrel ! 
You are no longer in my service ; leave as soon as 
you can ; pack up and come to-morrow for your 
wages !” 

Utterly taken aback, afraid to say a word, for fear 
of making matters worse for Madge, he stood dumb. 

St John turned his back and reentered the room. 
It was the sitting-room, but Madge was not there. 
She had gone to her bedroom and barricaded her- 
self in. St. John had done nothing to prevent that, 
but had smiled grimly. 

When he had gone downstairs to give notice of 
his change of rooms, while Jennie and Terry were 
quietly taking their tea, ignorant that the lady they 
both loved so well was locked in her apartments, 
St. John had written the following note : 

Dear Watson : I want you to do me a service. I fear my 
wife is a lunatic needing restraint ; please bring me a medical 


134 


Yet She Loved Him. 


friend you can rely on and tell me what is the matter. Inclosed 
are the ten pounds I owe you.” 

This note he had dispatched by messenger to an 
ex-army .surgeon who had left the service, not will- 
ingly, it was whispered, and who, failing to establish 
a practice, got his living now in devious ways. The 
recollection of this useful man it was that made him 
rejoice in his wife’s going to Dublin, where he had 
a tool. 

Scarcely had Terry left the door than the two 
doctors arrived. St. John came toward them as 
they entered the room. 

“ I am glad you have come so promptly. I am in 
a difficult position. You know, I dare say, that my 
wife ran away from me soon after our marriage and 
has evaded me ever since. I knew she was very 
peculiar, and when that happened, I concluded she 
was insane ; everything confirms that view. And, 
if that were all, I should simply watch over her, but 
I find I can only avert a terrible scandal by putting 
her under restraint, at least for a few weeks. She 
arrived here in company with a gentleman,” he 
said, in low, meaning tones, “and I wish, without 
blemishing her name, to save her. Her mental 
state is such that I am convinced you will agree 
with me she is not accountable for her actions.” 

Doctor Watson looked at him with an understand- 
ing leer, and St. John went to Madge’s door. 

“ Madge, please open to me.” 

No answer. 

“ Come, Madge, this is nonsense. You may be 
sure I shall open the door. It is only a matter of a 


Yet She Loved Him. 


135 


few minutes, more or less, and you will be wiser to 
open. Two friends of mine are here whom I wish 
you to become acquainted with.’' 

Then the door opened slowly and Lady Madge 
came out. 

She was dressed in a flowing white wrapper ; her 
face was deathly pale, her eyes wore a hunted, 
frightened expression, and her short, disheveled 
hair all tended to make her look distraught. 

Even men with an honest desire to And her sane 
might, if they had been told she was mad, have 
found the story wStrengthened by her appearance ; 
but these men had no wish to find her sane. They 
knew they were there to pronounce her insane, and 
in a few minutes their pliant minds had seen enough 
to convince them. 

St. John left the room with them. 

Ten minutes later he had a certificate of Lady 
Madge’s insanity and the address of an asylum very 
near the city, where she would be received without 
too much scrutiny. 

St. John had hastily resolved on this action, know- 
ing that whenever he had prepared the way she 
would be under his hand. 

Terry stood some seconds as St. John left him, 
and then resolved to wait till he saw Jennie, who 
had promised to return and tell the result of her 
interview with Lorrimer. He feared to leave Lady 
Margaret with her husband alone, and determined 
to keep watch on the room. He saw the two doctors 
enter and leave, and then a waiter was rung for. 
As the latter left the room, having received his 


136 


Yet She Loved Hint. 


order, Terry accosted him and discovered that 
Captain St. John had ordered a close carriage. 

“ Ah,” thought Terry, “ he is going to carry the 
darlint away, and Mr. Lorrymore never to know it. 
But sure what could he do ? But it ’s meself ’ll know 
where the carriage goes, too, anny way.” 

He told the waiter, whom he knew slightly, to let 
him get the carriage, which the man agreed to do ; 
and then he ran out, made a certain arrangement 
with the driver, by which the latter gained half a 
crown and Terry a ride on the footboard. 


• % 




• CHAPTER XVIII. 

When St. John returned to the room he saw 
Madge, standing white and ghost-like, wistfully 
looking out of the window. 

“ Madge !” he said in a conciliatory tone. “ I am 
obliged to go away suddenly.” 

He watched her under his eyelids, and saw her 
visibly brighten at hearing this. 

But,” he continued, ‘‘ I cannot have you in this 
hotel to which you were brought by a man. Have 
you any acquaintance in this city to whom you can 
go for the present?” 

“ Oh, yes, several !” said Lady Madge, eagerly. 
Oh, if she might only be spared that man’s com- 
pany ! 

“ Well, get ready, and I will take you ; but there 
must be no sending to Lorrimer.” 

“ No, no ! I give you my word if you will leave 
me, I will stay where you wish, do what you wish. 
I will do anything !” 

His lips curled. 

“ That is complimentary. Anything to be rid of 
me ! Well, so be it. I will see if you are not kinder 
when I have time to be with you.” 


[137] 



138 


Yet She Loved Him, 


Madge went into the inner room and put on her 
walking-clothes and returned. She was almost joy- 
ful at this escape from living even as a day as the 
wife of St. John. She loathed herself that she was 
even civil to him, and did not denounce him ; but 
she was so terribly weak and nervous, she could not 
make up her mind what was right or wrong in the 
case. 

“ Where will you go?” asked vSt. John. “I will 
go and see about a carriage.” 

His object was to get her away quietly from the 
hotel, and under the belief that she was going to a 
friend she would go willingly. She mentioned a 
lady whom, as Madge was never to reach her house, 
it matters not to name, and St. John left the rooms. 
The carriage had arrived, and he went to direct the 
coachman to drive to a certain private lunatic asylum 
in the suburbs and warn him that the lady he was 
to drive was insane; that he must not take any 
notice if she should cry out or attempt to get 
through the carriage-window. 

He slipped a sovereign into the man’s hand to 
purchase his good will, and then returned to Madge, 
who was trembling with eagerness to go to her 
friend. 

Only this morning she had dreaded to see any 
one who had ever known her ; but any evil now 
seemed preferable to the terrible one of being 
forced to live with the man she had married. 

She descended to the carriage, followed by St. 
John. When seated, vshe leaned back and closed 
her eyes. 


Yet She Loved Him, 


139 


The belief that she was to be reprieved from her 
hideous fate was so grateful to her that she felt for 
the moment at rest. 

She knew Dublin well, and that the house to 
which she was going was very near the hotel. She 
was first roused from the quiescent state in which she 
had fallen by the thought that they seemed to have 
come a long way. She looked out, and saw they 
were in a part of the city quite unfamiliar to her — 
certainly not in the direction of her friend’s house. 

“This man is going wrong,” she said. “Stop 
him, please.” 

“ Let him alone ; he knows his way,” said St. 
John, quietly. 

“ But this is 7iot the way,” said Lady Madge. She 
had no distrust as yet, for she believed St. John was 
merely thinking the driver knew his own business 
better than she did ; but when she found she could 
not induce him to expostulate, she began to fear. 
Her heart beat. What if she had been only en- 
trapped into leaving the hotel, so that her one staunch 
friend might lose traces of her ? She sat silent a 
few minutes, refusing to credit her fears, and then 
she took the matter in her own hands. 

They had turned a corner, and she perceived they 
were driving along the Grand Canal and she recog- 
nized the road to Clondalkin. 

She shook the windows in front. St. John forced 
her back into her seat, but she cried desperately : 

“ Stop ! Stop !” with all the power of her voice. 
“ I will go no farther ! I will not be taken — ” 

St. John’s small hand was pressed to her mouth. 


140 


Yet She Loved Him. 


In vain she struggled, his arm was fast round her 
neck, his hand on her lips. 

The struggle was very short, for, succumbing to 
her terror and her weakness, she fainted. 

Poor, poor Lady Madge ! Where were her zealous 
friends now ? 

Before she had regained her senses they reached 
a pair of iron gates, over which a lamp swung, and 
the carriage turned in and drove up a long sweep 
to a great dreary, white house, with closely grated 
windows— a house that would have appalled a stouter 
heart than hers, had she been able to see it. 

St. John got out of the carriage and asked to see 
the proprietor. A few words only passed between 
them, and two stout women were called, and un- 
happy Madge was carried through those grim 
portals, over which might well have been written 
Dante's words : 

“ Renounce hope all who enter here !” 




CHAPTER XIX. 

Lorrimer heard Terry’s story in silence. He 
knew how little he could do against St. John, armed 
with a husband’s terrible authority. 

He had eagerly heard Terry’s hint as to the pos- 
sibility that Lady Madge’s marriage was no mar- 
riage at all ; but he could not use this suspicion 
until he had made inquiries, and to do that he must 
go or write to London. 

No, all he could do now was to go to the hotel and, 
if possible, see Madge, even in her husband’s pres- 
ence. Now, too, that he was with her, he could 
take a room in the hotel and, to a certain extent, 
watch over her. 

‘‘Jennie,” he said, “you come with me and wait 
in the carriage outside, while I go in and see Lady 
Madge. You may be needed.” 

Jennie was agreeable to anything that would help 
her dear mistress, and they started. Jennie had 
walked to Mr. Lorrimer’s hotel, and when she 
reached it she had to wait some little time before 
he came. He had been to consult a lawyer whom 
he knew in the city, and learned he could do abso- 
lutely nothing, which, however, he had known be- 

[141] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


T42 


fore. This delay, however, brought them to the 
Queen’s Hotel a few minutes after the carriage con- 
taining Madge and her husband had driven away. 

When Lorrimer heard that they had both gone 
out, he knew not what to think. Tired as she was, 
Madge would never have gone out if she could have 
helped it. She had gone willingly ; therefore there 
was treachery at work. He looked and inquired 
for Terry, and, not finding him, felt relieved, for 
he felt sure he had done as he had been requested 
— had gone after them. 

There seemed nothing to be done then but to 
wait for him ; any step he took prematurely might 
be in a wrong direction. He went out to the carriage 
in which Jennie was seated and told her to remain 
there to watch if Terry came, and he would go in- 
side and do the same. He was very anxious now 
to avoid being seen by St. John, and he therefore 
asked for a private room, and told the waiter as a 
pretext that he wanted to engage Mr. St. John’s 
former valet when he should come in, and desired 
he might be sent to him when he returned. He 
had what seemed to him a long time to wait, and 
he was beginning to fear that Terry might be wait- 
ing at the Gresham for him, when the valet was 
shown in. 

His look was wildly excited ; he did not wait for 
Lorrimer to speak, but exclaimed directly he saw 
him : 

“ Ah, Mr. Lorrymore, sir, he ’s got her away, but, 
bad cess to him, I know where she is, an’ we ’ll get 
her again ! Oh, the poor darlint ! An’ she was 


Yet She Loved Him, 


143 


faintin’ when she was carried into the house, though 
I heard her in the carriage a-beggin’ and a-intreatin’ 
not to go.” 

“ But Terry, why did — ” 

Ah, thin, sir, what c’u’d I do against her hus- 
ban’ ? Sure, ye said yerself no one c’u’d interfere 
openly : but, though me heart was broke, I thought 
it was better to keep onto the back av the carriage 
an’ see where she went than expose meself to be 
sint back, and do her no good at all, at all !” 

“ Right, Terry ; very right ! You had more sense 
than I had, but where is she ? Tell me all !” 

Terry then related how he had gone behind the 
carriage till it stopped at a large house about a mile 
this side of Clondalkin, and though Lady Madge 
had been heard to struggle against going further 
long before she got so far, there had suddenly come 
a silence, and she was carried out by two women, a 
gentleman coming outside to the carriage and seem- 
ing to superintend them. 

“What sort of a house was it?” asked Lorri- 
mer. 

“ A great, drearydookin’ house, and the name av 
‘ Doctor Marsh ’ was on the gate. I didn’t dare go 
in the gate, for I didn’t want to be seen ; so I just 
looked through an’ saw all. An’ whin the carriage 
came out wid Mr. St. John, behint I jumped up 
ag’in. An’ here I am.” 

“ Well done, Terry ! Stay here. No ! Jennie is 
waiting in a carriage below. She must be tired. 
Do you know anywhere that she can lodge comfort- 
ably ? I hope we shall have need of her services 


144 


Ye I She Loved Him. 


for^Lady Madge again before long ; but she must 
haVfe a home meanwhile.” 

“ Leave her to me, sir. I ’ll take her to a decent 
lodging kept by a friend of me own, in a jiffy.” 

“ That ’s right ! Take the carriage, and then, 
when you have settled her all right, go to the 
Gresham and wait for me. You can enter my ser- 
vice from to-night ; but we ’ll talk of that later. I 
am going now to see who Doctor Marsh is.” 

Lorrimer forced himself to be calm. He counted 
very much on Terry’s cooperation ; but he saw how 
excitable he was, and that if he allowed himself to 
show his agitation the other might become reckless. 
And, of all things, caution seemed most necessary 
now. 

He went downstairs with Terry to assure Jennie 
she would be looked after, and then he returned to 
the office of the hotel, and found, to his horror, that 
Doctor Marsh kept a private lunatic asylum, about 
which many strange stories were told. 

He understood all now. There was not a doubt 
of what had happened, and he could do nothing. If 
he went and swore that she was sane, of what avail 
would it be ? Her husband had placed her there. 
He guessed by what means. Oh, the unutterable 
torture of the. thought that this lovely girl, so in- 
nocent, so blameless, was even now enduring the 
horror of hearing the terrible sounds uttered by her 
fellow-captives ! And knowing herself sane, to be 
there, and none to help her ! She would not even 
know that he was aware of her peril, or she might 
be sure he would succor her at his life’s cost. But 


Yet She Loved Him. 


HS 


to-night nothing could be done ; it was already too 
late ; but to-morrow, please God, she should know 
at least she was not deserted. 

But all the misery Lorrimer’s imagination de- 
picted fell far short of the fact. 

Lady Madge’s first awakening to consciousness 
was a shock of feeling ice-cold water dashed roughly 
in her face. She was in a bare little room with 
whitewashed walls, the blinding light from a gas 
jet, without glass or globe, pouring down on her, 
and two gaunt, forbidding-looking women were 
standing over her. 

‘‘ Where am I ?” she asked, bewildered by the 
strange surroundings. 

“ Come ! You just ask no questions and ye ’ll 
hear no stories,” said one of the women, grimly. 
“ Come, get up and get this toggery off !” 

Madge rose from her recumbent position, and 
found she had been lying on a wretched cot-bed so 
dirty that the delicately nurtured lady started from 
it. It seemed horrible to have come in contact with 
it. But who could these women be who spoke to 
her in such a manner ? They must be making some 
mistake. 

“ Thank you. I have been ill, I suppose. I am 
sorry to have troubled you. I will do so no longer. 
Can you tell me where I shall find Mr. St. 
John ?” ^ 

“ We don’t know any Mr. St. John. We ’ve got 
to look after you, and it ’s time we were in bed. 
New patients coming this time of night — I ’ve no 
patience with ’em !” said the other woman. 


146 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ What do you mean ? What can you mean ? Am 
I in a hospital T 

“ Here, come now, stop yer jaw, if yer don’t know 
now, yer soon will. Come, undress !” 

Both women took hold of her, one at each side, 
but Madge’s blood rose at the idea of those coarse 
creatures touching her, and she bounded from 
them. 

“ How dare you touch me ?” She turned the 
handle of the door to go out of the room, but the 
loud laugh of the women showed her even before 
she found it locked that her effort was in vain. 

That she had been brought to this place by St. 
John for some vile purpose she saw plainly enough, 
but she believed, once they knew who she was, they 
would not detain her. Poor Lady Madge had been 
accustomed to see everything give way to her rank. 
She could not believe it would be different, now she 
was in her own country. 

Turning to the women she said, gently : 

“ There is some mistake. Do you know who I 
am ?” 

“ A princess, I dare say,” said one, with a derisive 
sneer. “ Them as comes here most generally are. 
Come, Bet, let’s get her settled for the night.” 

“ What do you mean ? What can you mean ? 

‘ For the night ?’ I will not stay here for the night !” 

By way of answer, the woman called Bet and the 
other, whose name was Jane, seized her and began 
vigorously taking off her clothes in spite of her re- 
sistance, and when it came to the point of removing 
her dress, Madge struggled so violently and screamed 


Yet She Loved Him. 


H7 


so loudly for assistance, that one of them made a 
hasty sign, the other put her hand in her pocket 
and drew forth a gag, which was thrust into Madge’s 
tender mouth with eruel force. Her resistance had 
angered the women, and they wrenched her arms 
savagely as they removed her garments one after 
the other. 

“ Now, my fine madam, you can hear, if you can’t 
speak. If we’ve any capers, on goes the strait- 
jacket !” 

They threw over her a coarse night-dress, and 
pointing to the bed, took away her outer clothes 
and left the room. The cruel gag was still in her 
mouth, but she eould remove it. Her hands were 
free. She put her hand behind her head to un- 
fasten it, but found it was impossible. By some in- 
fernal eontrivance it fastened with a spring, and 
she could not remove it. 

Was it possible she was to pass the night with 
that painful thing in her mouth ? And — ah, that 
loathsome bed ! No, she could not lie on it. 

The light had been turned out, and now the moon 
streamed in through the grated window. She went 
toward it and looked out. Oh, to be out in that free 
air! What could be the end of this? Was she 
brought here to be killed ? Surely, it would not 
take much to kill her ! Fortunately, or unfortun- 
ately, the physical pain from the gag and the mis- 
ery of being tired and weak and no place but the 
floor to lie on, prevented her mental distress injur- 
ing her so much as it might otherwise have done. 
She could not think long on one point without being 


148 


Yel She Loved Him. 


stopped by a sense of pain and making some effort 
to relieve it. She sat down on the floor in a patch 
of moonlight, and then, when tired of that position^ 
she lay down. How slowly that endless night 
passed ! How could she ever endure another ? On 
collecting her thoughts and remembering the 
women, and what they had said, she knew she must 
be in an insane asylum. But why did she hear 
nothing — none of the woeful sounds she had always 
associated with lunacy? Then she remembered 
her own state, the gag. Could it be that all were 
gagged, or had the knowledge of its pain wrought 
a painful fear ? Involuntarily her thoughts turned 
to Lorrimer, and with a tender pleasure she knew 
if he could but learn her peril he would rescue her. 
How could she let him know it ? 




CHAPTER XX. 

When St. John returned to the hotel, after hav- 
ing got rid of Madge, and come to an understanding 
with Doctor Marsh, his first care was to possess him- 
himself of Madge’s jewels, which were very costly 
— diamonds that in consequence of her youth she 
had never worn, but which had come to her from 
her mother. These, being family jewels, he knew 
must be unmounted, for such remarkable gems 
would not be bought without question in their en- 
tirety. This was one reason why it was a relief 
to him to place her in safe-keeping till he had ar- 
ranged for things so that she could claim her father’s 
money without suspicion, or rather, he meant so to 
manage that, the will being found, she would be 
sought for to take possession, and then he would 
bring her forward. Meanwhile she was safe ; she 
could not, to justify her renouncing him, accuse 
him of her father’s murder. No, she was safe so 
long as Marsh was paid to take care of her. 

He ransacked her trunks and took from them 
everything of value, then repacked them, and had 
them sent to the station. The next morning, early, 

[149] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


150 


he paid his own and Lady Madge’s bill, and went to 
London. 

It was with a feeling of relief that Lorrimer 
heard that he was gone ; if anything was to be 
done, there would be no fear of having his plans 
frustrated by him. Yet what those plans were to 
be he could not guess ; his natural impulse was to 
go at once to the asylum and ask to see the patient, 
but he did not need to be told that he would not 
know under what name to ask for her, for St. John 
would certainly not leave her under her right one, 
and then if he made unsuccessful application to see 
her, he would but put the attendants on their guard. 
No, better to have patience till some plan which 
would have a good result could be carried out. 

Happily for his peace of mind, no idea of the 
horrors of rough usage and dirt to which she was 
subject crossed his mind. The confinement as in- 
sane was the worst he feared ; gratuitous cruelty 
seemed improbable. 

But in vain he ransacked his brain for a plan to 
let her know friends were active on her behalf. At 
last he called Terry and asked if he could suggest 
any likely plan. Terry scratched his head and 
shook it slowly. Then he looked bright. 

“ I don’t know ; but I think I have a way to let 
the lady know ; an’ if it don’t work, no harm will 
be done.” 

Let us hope it will work, then.” 

Terry related in a few minutes the idea he had, 
which Lorrimer thought might answer ; at least it 
could be tried, and once she had heart and hope to 


Vet She Loved Him. 


151 


bear up, he could arrange some plan for taking her 
away. 

****** 

Unconscious of any effort being made in her be- 
half, the unhappy Lady Madge went through that 
night of physical and mental agony, and the morn- 
ing found her, almost lifeless, still on the floor of 
her room. The fact that she had so passed the 
night seemed to enrage the human fiends who had 
to attend on her. They removed the gag, and then 
asked her why she had not been to bed, and, with 
her poor mouth aching, her delicate lips swollen 
and black, the wretched girl could not for a minute 
speak. 

“ Come, no shamming, or I ’ll rouse yer,” said she 
called Bet. “ This ain’t the place to give yerself 
airs and make yerself ill for us to wait on yer.” 

Madge gave a frightened look at the dreadful 
woman, whose manner seemed to threaten violence ; 
and so broken was Madge’s dauntless spirit by ill- 
ness, suffering and loss of sleep that the tears 
coursed down her cheeks. 

“ I could not .sleep oh those sheets — I could not.’ 

“ I reckon you will, or we ’ll know the reason why 
to-night. Here, put on this here gownd,” she said, 
handing her a coarse, gray woolen one, which, 
however, seemed new and clean, to Madge’s relief. 
And then the women left the room. 

“ Why am I not to have my own clothes ?” she 
thought. 

She did not know that Doctor Marsh ostenta- 
tiously invited inspection now and then of his 


152 


Yet She Loved Him. 


patients, and that such as were not to be scrutinized 
too closely were made to look vulgar and common- 
place by ugly, coarse dresses, no visitor supposing 
they did not belong to the wearer. Madge was so 
lovely, so evidently a person of distinction, that she 
could not have escaped notice if any curious visitor 
should come ; but if she were vulgarly dressed only 
her pretty face would remain, and that would not 
remain pretty long within those walls. Doctor 
Marsh and his satellites well knew how powerless 
beauty of form is to show itself through an ill-fit- 
ting garment. 

A great bell soon rang after she was dressed, and 
Bet came to the room and roughly bade her come 
to breakfast. 

So weak she could hardly drag one foot before 
another, Madge yet welcomed the announcement. 
She would see more of the place she was in, and 
whether everything was as terrible as it seemed 
now. She followed Bet along a corridor and into a 
large room, with a long table in the center. On 
this table was a huge dish of oatmeal porridge and 
tumblers of milk at every place. Madge was placed 
next a little woman with bright eyes and a brisk, 
birdlike manner. Madge eagerly drank the milk, 
her terrible experience of the past night causing a 
devouring thirst ; but the porridge she could not 
touch, nor, indeed, any food. 

She looked along the table ; there were about 
twenty women seated ; and the two women, Jane 
and Bet, waited on them. Even to Madge’s inex- 
perienced eye it was evident that the greater part 


Yet She Loved Hint. 


15^ 


of them were insane. Some ate their food in a dis- 
gusting manner ; others seemed as sane as herself, 
Her next neighbor on one side was sitting jabbering 
to herself between each mouthful but the dark-eyed 
little woman on her left seemed unusually intel- 
ligent. Presently she spoke. 

“ How do you like the aspect of things ?” she 
asked. 

“ Not at all,” said Madge, in reply to the query of 
her neighbor at the table as to how she liked the 
aspect of things. 

“ Hush ! Don’t let that be heard. Bet has sharp 
ears, and she ’ll gag you.” 

Madge shuddered. 

“ They do that here too much, and that makes it 
the quietest house in the country. Observe that 
poor creature next you : She’s as mad as a March 
hare. That is the saddest part of living here.” 

Madge looked at her in surprise. Was it possible 
she, a sane woman, had chosen this as her abode? 
Yet it was an inexpressible comfort to find there 
was one sound mind near her. 

“ Have you lived here long?” asked Madge. 

“ A few years. I ’m studying character. I ’m a 
novelist, and one gets great insight here. You in- 
terest me very much, and there must be some his- 
tory about you, for I see you have on one of the 
stock gowns. They never do that to real lunatics. 
Oh, I ’m up to every dodge of this place !” 

Madge looked at the novelist with great curiosity. 
What devotion to art it showed to voluntarily come 
to live in a place like this for the sake of study, but 


154 


Yet She Loved Him. 


it seemed strange it should take years to complete 
her observations; perhaps she remained from habit 
now. She looked on the little woman with a good 
deal of respect, nevertheless, and was much startled 
when she said : 

“ I ’ll tell you a secret. I ’m going to have a 
grand transformation scene to-night. I have been 
planning a surprise for a long time, and I rather 
think I ’ll astonish the natives.” 

Madge had heard of amateur theatricals being 
gotten up in some asylums, and asked : 

“ Do they have theatricals here ?” thinking of any 
chance that might realize her hope of making her 
whereabouts known. 

“ They never have had, but to-night there will be 
a very grand affair ; red-fire and all the melodra- 
matic etceteras.” 

When they rose from the breakfast-table, her new 
friend took her into a large room called the saloon, 
where all the patients seemed to congregate. It 
was not long before Madge discovered that her new 
friend, the novelist, had some very peculiar views, 
but perhaps that came of being with mad people. 
While she sat there, a young woman came to her 
with a doll and begged her to admire her baby, 
and Madge, full of pity for the poor soul, took 
the doll and praised it. At this the novelist 
got quite angry, and scolded the doll’s mother, 
and told her she ought to be ashamed to trouble the 
Queen of England. Madge looked at her in aston- 
ishment. Whereupon the novelist rose, and, mak- 
ing a profound reverence, said : 


Yet She Loved Him. 


155 


“ Pray, your majesty, do not be uneasy ; I shall 
respect your incognita, and cause it to be respected 
by others.” 

Now Madge saw that her “sane” acquaintance 
was undoubtedly as mad as any of the others. It 
was a disappointment. A sane woman amidst 
lunatics ! What hope had she ? She found out 
later that the novelist called herself “ Miss Brad- 
don,” and would answer to no other name 

“ Miss Braddon ” clung to her persistently, refer- 
ring again and again to her grand transformation 
scene for that evening, and begged her not to whis- 
per it, or Bet would soon put a stop to it. 

“ And then there ’ll be no fun, you know, which 
would be too bad, for I ’ve been preparing for 
months.” 

Madge promised secrecy. She concluded the 
theatricals were merely a figment of her poor, dis- 
eased brain. 

During the morning. Miss Braddon took Madge 
to her room, and Madge found it somewhat more 
comfortable than her own, though not cleaner ; but 
it faced the front. She had books to read, too, 
which would make the wretched life in that place 
more bearable. 

Glad to escape her wretched thoughts, Madge 
opened one of the books — it was a volume of Thack- 
eray — and read a few paragraphs, when she was 
roused by the sound of a man beneath calling very 
loudly : “ Apples ! Oranges !” with the long-drawn 
cadence peculiar to vendors of those fruits in the 
old country. She looked through the bars, and the 


Yet She Loved Him. 


156 


man turned his face up to the windows as if seeking 
custom, a very unusual thing for vendors in that 
vicinity. 

She started. Surely that face was familiar ! The 
face, but not the clothes. Yet it must be Terry’s. 
She did not know he had left St. John. Yet his 
presence caused her heart to beat with hope. It 
must mean something. But though she had seen 
him, Terry did not know it. 

She saw a man from the house order him out 
of the yard, and then Terry reeled about like a 
drunken man and refused to obey. On the man’s 
approaching to put him out, he flung down his 
basket, letting the fruit roll right and left, and 
showed fight, yelling and making a terrible noise. 
The man evidently thought discretion the better 
part of valor and ran indoors. Then Terry leisurely 
proceeded to pick up his fruit, singing snatches of 
song at the top of his voice, and one seemed' spe- 
cially meant for her, as it met her ear. It was a 
line from the “ Pilot 

“ Fear not,-but trust in Providence, wherever you may be !” 
The apparently drunken man then lurched and 
reeled out of the courtyard, still shouting at the top 
of a drunken voice : “ Fear not !” 

Madge turned from the window with a heart 
bounding with hope. She knew now that help 
would come. She felt she could even endure an- 
other night such as the last with the certainty that 
her whereabouts was known ! 



CHAPTER XXL 

The weak part of Terry’s plan, so far as Lorrimer 
was concerned, was that even after it had been car- 
ried out, he was left in doubt as to its success. 

Terry related what he had done, when he re- 
turned, but could not tell whether Lady Madge had 
heard him. He had distinctly seen heads crowded 
at the windows, but he had not dared look long 
enough to distinguish any one in particular, but if 
he had not done that, he had some information 
which might be valuable. 

He found that Doctor Marsh’s man-servant fre- 
quently went in the evening to a small shebeen or 
public house, near Clondalkin, and he believed by 
going there himself, he might, b}^ the aid of whisky, 
make his acquaintance. 

This would be something gained, and Lorrimer 
was glad to hear it, for he hardly could suppose 
that any one who would serve in such a place would 
be above a bribe, provided the bribe were heavy 
enough. But, although this promised an opening, 
he chafed to think that Madge must remain there 
in that prison-house till her release could be ob- 
tained by strategy. His blood boiled, and it was 

[157] 


•158 


Yet She Loved Him. 


only by remembering the danger there would be in 
a tour de forceYndX he abstained from trying to force 
his way to her. 

Meanwhile, Terry and Jennie were consulting 
together, for the gallant Irishman had been much 
struck with her bonny English face, and was al- 
ready very much in love with her. He took the 
pretext that going to carry news to her gave him of 
seeing her. 

“ But what she must suffer, that dear young 
lady,” said Jennie. “ Oh, if I could only be with 
her !” 

“ An’ do you know what I ’ve been thinkin’. Miss 
Jennie, if anny one had the courage to do it ?” 

“ What is it ? Courage ! Why, if there ’s any- 
thing to be done that needs only courage, I ’m sure 
I know two that would have courage enough. 
There ’s Mr. Lorrimer would brave anything, and 
there ’s me,” she said, with a glance out of the 
corner of her eye at Terry. 

“ Ah, shure ! An’ isn’t there meself as would 
make three ? But Miss Jennie, dear, it isn’t me nor 
Mr. Lorry more that must do it, but just yourself, 
an’ I ’m afeard for yez.” 

“ What is it? Tell me!’' she said, imperiously, 
for she was too true a woman not to have discovered 
her power over Terry even before he knew it 
himself. 

“Well, what w’u’d ye say to being where she is?” 

“ In her place ? I ’d do it in a minute, because 
there would be no danger of my being kept there 
— I ’m not of enough consequence.” 


Yet She Loved Him. 


159 


No, not in her place, but with her,” 

“ I ’m ready — if it will help her.” 

“ Don’t say a word now till I see Mr. Lorr5^more, 
an’ I’m thinkin’ he may take yez to the asylum to- 
night.” 

Jennie declared she would be ready at a minute’s 
notice, and then, with a tender squeeze of the hand, 
he left her to broach his scheme to Lorrimer. He 
knew, although he had had the wit to conceive it, 
Mr. Lorrimer would have to mature it and carry it 
out. 

Terry returned to the hotel, eager with his plan. 

“ Mr. Lorrymore, sir, I ’ve an idea, an’ if you 
think well of it, we ’ll have Lady Margaret here in a 
few days.” 

“ A few days, Terry ! But she will die in a few 
days or go mad ! How can she live and retain her 
reason through all this suffering for days? We 
must get her away soon !” he cried, in his im- 
patience. 

Aisy, sir ! Aisy ! We ’ll get her, but if a friend 
can be there with her to keep her heart up, and 
help us at the same time, that ’ll give her courage 
to live in her sinses !” 

“ Yes, but, my good Terry, who is this friend?” 

Jennie, sir. ' She and I have talked it over, and 
she will go to that house as a patient if you will 
take her, an’ she can play mad just a little, so that 
she ’ll be trusted, an’ thin she can see Lady Mar- 
garet, an’ tell her you are working for her.” 

“ And will Jennie actually do this?” asked Lorri- 
mer, his eye kindling at the thought. 


i6o 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ Yes, sir ; I have talked it over. She is willing-. 
She is going to dress up quare, and she 11 pretind to 
belave she’ s Doctor Marsh’s own wife — that’ 11 seem 
mad enough for anything.” 

“ Terry, you are a genius ! Why did not such an 
idea enter my brains ?” 

Terry, his good-looking face all aglow with grati- 
fication at Lorrimer’s appreciation and enthusiasm 
at the idea of being of service to Lady Madge, 
said : 

“ Ah, sir, it ’s because your head ’s so full of so 
many things, there isn’t so much room for new 
ideas to enter on a suddent ; but the head of a poor 
fellow like me is just an empty ball, an’ there ’s 
hapes av room for any notion or the like to get in.” 

“ Terry, you would make a capital courtier. How- 
ever, we have now to settle our plan. You go and 
prepare Jennie, and, tell her she must be ready 
this evening to go with me. I will call for her in a 
carriage. Tell her, for this act of devotion I will 
take care of her all her life, whatever comes from it.” 

Terry went on wings to Jennie. Anything that 
took him to her lent wings to his feet, and even the 
reflection that, in pursuance of his plan, he was to 
lose the power of seeing her, perhaps, for two or 
three days, was not enough to damp him, for he 
pictured the joy of being the means of rescuing her 
and Lady Madge ; and, knowing her devotion to 
the latter, he felt his best passport to Jennie’s heart 
was his service to her mistress. 



CHAPTER XXIL 

If Doctor Marsh’s Lunatic Asylum was a very 
grim place outside and very comfortless within, 
there was one room in it replete with comfort, and 
that was the doctor’s own sanctum. In the middle 
of the day after Lady Margaret’s incarceration, and 
after she had renewed hope from having seen 
Terry, an elegantly-dressed lady called and desired 
tc see him on business. 

He ordered her to be shown into his sanctum ; 
then, flinging aside the yellow-covered novel he 
had been reading, he opened a medical book and 
seemed to be immersed in study. 

The lady entered, and, taking the chair placed 
for her, said : 

“ You have a sister-in-law of mine here. My 
brother, Captain St. John, wished me to call and 
see her.” 

The wary doctor looked dubiously at Laura, for 
it was she, then said, with the utmost politeness : 

I do not know any gentleman of that name. I 
think you must be mistaken. But with regard to 
patients under my charge, I have to exercise my 

[i6i] 


i 62 


Yet She Loved Him. 


own discretion in allowing them to be seen ; in af- 
fections of the mind the less they see of those dear 
to them the better for their chances of recovery.” 

Laura smiled at his specious words, uttered so 
gravely. 

“ My sister-in-law must certainly be here, but it 
may be a necessary discretion on your part to re- 
fuse a stranger’s request to see her. I will write to 
my brother, and he will satisfy your doubts.” 

The doctor now looked more keenly at her ; he 
began to understand that this lady most likely was 
in connivance with the husband of his patient ; at 
the same time he left no margin for mistakes, and 
he therefore said, very suavely : 

“When I find out who the lady actually is, I 
shall be delighted, and should it comport with my 
duty to the invalid, to let you see her.” 

Which Laura translated into “ When you satisfy 
me by written evidence that you are not a friend of 
the ^patient,’ but are in collusion against her, you 
shall see her.” And, as she wanted to inspire the 
doctor with the utmost confidence, she acquiesced 
gracefully in what she could not help, meaning, 
nevertheless, to hoodwink the doctor in the end. 

About six o’clock the same evening, just as the 
doctor was beginning his dinner, a gentleman was 
announced as wishing to see him on business. 
Now, dinner was a pleasant thing, but Doctor Marsh 
never allowed pleasure to stand before duty, and he 
cast a sigh at his steaming soup, and went out to 
see his visitor. A tall, slender man with brilliant 
black eyes and grayish hair and a white mustache, 


Yet She Loved Him. 


163 


was waiting to see him, and told him he had a 
patient he wished to place in his care, who was suf- 
fering from mental disease. The doctor gravely 
listened, asked a few questions, learned that the 
terms would be very liberal, and was quite satisfied 
at once that the lady ought to be in an asylum. 

“What form does this lady’s disease take?” he 
asked. 

“ Oh, a very mild form. She fancies, just at 
present, that she is married, and is seeking her hus- 
band.” 

“ Ah, well, she will no doubt be benefited by her 
treatment here. We employ all the latest scientific 
resources, and make a great many cures.” 

“ vShe can, perhaps, enter at once ?” 

' Oh, dear, yes. Is the lady so docile as to have 
waited quietly outside so long ?” 

“ Yes, she is quite calm. You will need to use 
very little restraint. It is only because she has no 
home, no one but myself to care for her, that she 
needs to be put in an asylum at all.” 

Lorrimer — for, disguised as an elderly man, it was 
he — went to fetch Jennie, who had been well 
coached in her part. She had dressed herself in a 
most heterogeneous way, and walked with such a 
disdainful swagger in her absurd finery that Lorri- 
mer could not help wondering, even at such a time, 
at the genius for comedy displayed by this girl. 

Directly she saw the doctor she rushed forward. 

“ My husband ! My long-lost husband ! I ’ve 
found you !” 

Doctor Marsh, accustomed to all sorts of vagaries 


164 


Yet She Loved Him, 


as lie was, started back, and then, recovering him- 
self, he said : 

“Yes, my dear, anything you like.” 

Then, ringing a bell, he sent for Bet, who came 
and took the new patient in charge. He followed 
her out of the room and said one word in the ear 
of Bet, and then returned to Lorrimer, received a 
month’s money in advance and bowed him out. 
After Lorrimer had left, the wily doctor smiled 
sardonically : 

“ That was capitally done ! Very well acted, in- 
deed ! But an old bird cannot be caught like that. 
I wonder whom that woman comes for ! I must 
watch and find out. Perhaps the new patient.” 

Lorrimer had taken every precaution, even to 
disguising himself, for fear of accidents : but he 
had forgotten that, to an expert in lunacy, there 
were certain signs and tokens never absent, of 
which he and clever Jennie could know nothing. 




CHAPTER XXIII. 

Meanwhile, ignorant of the efforts of friends and 
enemies, Madge waited with patience for what 
might happen. Since she had seen Terry she no 
longer felt herself doomed to long suffering ; she 
thought it probable that Jennie had informed Lor- 
rimer of her dismissal, and that the latter coming 
to the hotel had come in contact with Terry. At 
all events, that visit meant something ; it could not 
be entirely accidental. 

Very cheerfully she bore the trials of the day, 
the scowls and hard words of ^et, and the weari- 
some persistence of “ Miss Braddon ” and one or 
two other poor souls, who were fascinated by the 
novelty of a new face and kept with her all the 
time. 

‘‘ It would not take very long of this life to make 
me mad,” thought Lady Madge, as she looked at the 
poor, unhappy faces around her. 

At seven the patients all retired to their rooms, 
and Jane came to marshal them, seeing each one 
entered her room, and turning the key on them. 

The patients, or at least those who were not vio- 
lent, were allowed to mingle during the day, but at 

[165] 



Yet She Loved Him. 


1 66 


night the keepers made the relaxation of their own 
vigilance possible by keeping them separate. As 
they entered the corridor in which Madge’s room 
was, she saw something that made her heart beat 
wildly. Bet was conducting a young woman to a 
room — a woman dressed in the most bizarre way, 
who walked with a self-complacent air, and yet in 
this woman she fancied — oh, could it be ! — that she 
recognized Jennie. 

So agitated was she by the possibility this called 
up that she did not notice what Jane and some 
others remarked, that there was a strong odor of 
gas in the house. Madge’s room was the second on 
that corridor, and the first was that of “ Miss Brad- 
don the latter had just gone in and Madge was 
entering her own, when an explosion was heard, 
apparently in the room “ Miss Braddon ” had 
entered. 

Jane ran back, flung open the door, and found the 
room a mass of flame. 

The poor novelist rushed out. No one noticed 
her. So great was the consternation of Jane at the 
sight of the fire that she left everything and ran to 
give the alarm. While “ Miss Braddon,” the fire of 
madness in her eyes, rushed from room to room, 
shouting, screaming with a frightful joy in the ruin 
she was wreaking. 

“ Ha, ha ! Didn’t I tell you ?” she cried, seeing 
Madge in the hall. “ Didn’t I tell you what a grand 
time we would have to-night? Ha, ha ! No bolts 
and bars, no more gags, ha, ha ! Come, you poor 
mad thing and see the fun !” 


Yet She Loved Him. 


167 


It had all taken place in an instant of time, but it 
dawned on Madge that the poor creature had set 
fire to the place, and then she perceived she had 
matches in her hands, and that every room in which 
she had been showed the gleam of fire. Acting on 
an impulse, she started to overtake her and try, if 
possible, to take the matches from her. This seemed 
a signal for a scene of wild confusion. The poor 
feather-heads, already excited by the poor woman’s 
shouts of glee, seeing Madge start in chase of her, 
perhaps seeing, too, Jane was not near, all started 
screaming and laughing in wild career along the 
corridor, while the few who had been locked in 
their rooms before the occurrence, excited by the 
clamor, were pounding on their doors, shouting, 
cursing and screaming ; the sounds emitted by the 
poor souls were like none uttered by sane people — 
weird and horrible sounds, which echoed through 
the house, making it seem a veritable pandemonium. 

Meanwhile the flames were spreading fast above. 
Jane had seen only one room on fire, which she had 
thought was due to an explosion of gas, as, indeed, 
it was. The poor demented woman, having been 
so long an inmate, seemingly so little inclined to 
mischief, had many privileges denied to others and 
was allowed gas. She had managed to turn it on 
early, closing her room up, and, on entering, had 
struck a light with surreptitiously obtained matches, 
hoarded for the purpose. 

Madge, only dimly realizing all this, yet anxious 
to prevent further mischief, flew after the unfor- 
tunate “ Miss Braddon,” and the other unhappy 


i68 


Yet She Loved Him. 


creatures, completely unbalanced by the excite- 
ment, flew in her wake, and the pursuit only in- 
creased the wild jubilation of the maniac, for such 
she had now become. 

As they reached the lower hall, Madge saw her 
run, laughing her mad, triumphant “ Ha, ha!” into 
the cosy sanctum of the doctor, and, before she 
could prevent her, she had gathered the lace cur- 
tains up and flung them over the gas. 

Madge screamed, and the lunatics at her back all 
screamed louder ; and then, careless of her personal 
danger, she rushed in, and would have seized the 
matches from her hand, and, no doubt, got injured 
in the attempt, had not the poor woman suddenly 
thrown them all on the now flaming curtains, throw- 
ing up her arms exultantly as she did so. 

“ Didn’t I tell you we ’d have fun to-night ! Ah, 
how good it is to see flames, the glorious flames !” 

She began dancing and singing gleefully, her 
long, thin hair streaming down her back and her 
dark, little face gleaming wildly in the ruddy glare. 

Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to Lady 
Madge : 

Jennie 1 If she should be locked up in the upper 
part of the building ! And those other poor helpless 
souls ! Had anything been done for them ? 

Horror ! To be locked up and perhaps burning 
to death ! 

She rushed up the stairs, which were now thick 
with smoke. She pressed her dress to her mouth 
and nostrils and rushed on ; and then she heard 
Doctor Marsh, who had gone up the back way, 


Yet She Loved Him. 


169 


shouting- to Bet to unlock every door, while over all 
the shouts and cries and hideous laughter below, 
rang out the clangorous peal of the alarm bell. 

Lady Madge attempted to go toward the room 
that had been hers, for she thought she could hear 
knocks at the doors of patients who had not been 
allowed out during the day, but she was driven 
back by smoke and flames. The second corridor 
had taken fire, but, fortunately, not until after the 
other was enveloped in flames, and this was the 
corridor in which Madge had seen Jennie ; and 
just as she was wondering whether she was locked 
in, she saw her, and Jennie saw her mistress. In 
the confusion no attention was paid to them, and 
Madge rushed to her. 

“ Oh, Jennie, Jennie, you here !” 

“Yes, dear, dear lady, to save^you. Mr. Lorri- 
mer brought me, but I fear something terrible will 
now upset his plans ; how shall we get out ? Escape 
seems cut off !” 

“ Oh, no, Jennie, surely not ! Look ! We can 
get along this corridor !” 

“ No, my lady, the end is burning — ” ' 

“ Come ; come quickly ; then we can get down 
the way I came up !” 

She half-dragged Jennie to the head of those 
stairs she had just ascended, but was met by some 
wretched beings who had tried that exit, but been 
driven back by the smoke and flames now pouring 
out of the doctor’s room. 

Ah, those terrible barred windows, they cut off 
every chance of the unhappy inmates for escape ! 


Yet She Loved Him. 


1 70 


Doctor Marsh and a man were hard at work trying 
to wrench the bars out, but it was such slow work, 
they would all be burned alive before they could 
make an exit that way. 

Then Doctor Marsh shouted desperately : 

To the roof ! To the roof !” 

Ah, yes, to the roof, but how to get there ? 

Madge and Jennie saw Bet and Jane, evidently 
thinking only of their own safety, throw their 
woolen skirts over their heads and rush madly 
through that horrible smoke. 

If they could do it and live, so could others. 

Lady Madge hastily told Jennie to do likewise, 
and then they made a dash forward, but the smoke 
choked and blinded them, and it seemed as if life 
must end in that wretched way. Yet they could 
hear the two keepers still in front ; they had gone 
through and lived. Jennie clasped Madge’s hand 
more firmly ; she felt her weak frame succumbing. 
Ah, God, must they die, so young, so full of 
life? 

Just as Madge stumbled and fell and could not 
rise, Jennife found they had reached the narrow 
staircase leading to the roof. She stooped to raise 
Madge, but, alas ! Slight girl as she was, her dead 
weight was far too much for Jennie to lift. What 
was she to do ? To stay there was certain death for 
both. If there was rescue for any one from the 
roof, she might bring aid to her mistress. She had 
no time to deliberate, or she was lost. She left 
Madge and rushed up the steps and there at the 
open scuttle got a draught of smoke-laden, sulphur- 


Yet She Loved Him. 


171 


ous air, yet so delightful by comparison was it, that 
she felt saved. But that was only for an instant. 
She stood the next on the roof, and looked about 
and found there seemed nothing to be done even 
there but to meet death in another way. 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

Lorrimer and Terry drove away from Doctor 
Marsh’s asylum with heavy hearts. The sight of 
the place, so grim and comfortless, in which his 
adored Madge was confined, struck like ice on his 
heart ; and Terry felt very sad to have seen the 
last of Jennie’s pretty face for a few days. They 
drove slowdy down the road toward Clondalkin, and 
then, when they came to a small public house, Terry, 
with many apologies for the suggestion, said he 
thought if Mr. “ Lorrymore ” would get out there 
and order something, it would be a good beginning, 
as they would have to make use of the place before 
long, perhaps. He had great hopes of making a 
comrade of the man employed by Doctor Marsh. 

And he comes every evening here, as soon as 
his master is at dinner, and stays till nine o’clock,” 
said Terry. 

“ Let us go in by all means. You order anything 
you like for yourself and him, too, if he is there ; 
and, as I have to dine somewhere, I may as well do 
so here.” 

“ But the likes av you couldn’t dine here, sir,” 
said Terry, in horror at the thought. 

“ I fancy I could do a great deal worse, Terry ; 

[172] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


173 


and dinner with me to-day is only a formality, and 
they can give me anything they have as an excuse 
for my being here.” 

He got down as he spoke and entered the small 
place. It was not so bad as might be supposed, for 
many tourists and sightseers, on their way to Cel- 
bridge Abbey, the home of Swift’s “ Vanessa,” or 
attracted by the celebrated round-tower of Clondal- 
kin itself, would stop for refreshment, and, there- 
fore, to meet their needs, a better order of things 
prevailed than is usual at a roadside shebeen. And 
a by no means despicable dinner was promised, and 
Lorrimer sat down in the room and took up an old 
Dublin paper. 

He had not read long before he was attracted by 
the distant sound of a bell — rung evidently at ran- 
dom, with none of the precision of a church bell — 
and then he heard hurried steps and wondering 
voices. 

“ Something must be the matter !” he exclaimed, 
and he went out to the front, where landlord and 
men and women were all crowding and wondering, 
and all looking up the road which they had lately 
come down. Terry was there, too, and a man by 
him who started running. Terry came close to 
Lorrimer, and said : 

“ Mike, Doctor Marsh’s man, says, sir, it is the 
alarm bell of the ’sylum, an’ the whole av them is 
getting loose perhaps ; anyway, we had best go 
there, I think, sir.” 

Lorrimer did not wait a moment for reply, but 
jumping on the box of the carriage, where Terry 


174 


Yel She Loved Him. 


followed, he took the reins and was soon dashing 
back to the asylum, saying when they were on their 
way : 

“ It may be nothing that concerns us, but we must 
neglect no possibility/’ 

They soon overtook Mike, and Terry shouted to 
him, and Lorrimer slackened speed sufficiently to 
let him get on the carriage ; and then off they went 
again, and soon they saw the cause of the alarm : 
Clouds of smoke were rising from the direction of 
the asylum, and the sky took on a lurid glow. 

“ A fire !” cried Lorrimer. “ Heaven grant we be 
in time to do something !” 

He set his teeth hard when he remembered those 
grated windows, and that the woman he loved was 
behind them. 

He urged the horses to their utmost speed, till 
the carriage swayed from side to side and threatened 
to capsize every minute ; and within seven minutes 
of the first alarm, steaming and panting, the horses 
drew up at the entrance to the asylum. 

Down sprang the three men and rushed into the 
courtyard, already crowded with people watching 
the torrents of smoke, the swift-devouring flames, 
and listening with blanched faces to the screams 
and cries of terror and despair from within. 

They arrived just as Doctor Marsh had shouted : 
“ To the roof !” And by the light of the flames be- 
hind the doctor was seen trying to wrench away the 
iron bars. 

He had succeeded in getting one away. Hjg knew 
he was hemmed in from below and that though 


Ve^ She Loved Him. 


175 


with a ladder there might be safety for a few through 
the narrow aperture, it must be slow work, and long 
before all could get through the house would have 
become a wreck, and to stay to get another bar 
away would be to risk his own precious life. Lad- 
ders were being brought by neighbors, and the vil- 
lage hand-engine was now rattling up. 

Lorrimer had seized Mike, who seemed fairly to 
have lost his senses. 

“ Come, man, and vShow me where are ladders and 
rope !” 

Mike led the way. Some one to guide him was 
all he wanted. They went to the doctor’s stables, 
and Terry, who had followed, was soon, aiding Lor- 
rimer to carry a long ladder and a coil of rope. 

The' engine had begun work and was playing on 
the roof, where several figures were seen. 

Lorrimer saw it was hopeless to make any effort 
at the main portion of the house, through which 
the flames were rioting. No living thing could now 
be in it, but to the left of the angle windows, from 
which Doctor Marsh was now descending, was the 
wing ; the flames had here made less progress, al- 
though volumes of smoke poured out from every 
aperture. 

While Lorrimer placed the ladder, he called to 
Terry to ruA to the stables for a horse blanket, and 
then, with the rope on his arm, he went up as far 
as it would take him. When he reached the top 
rung, he called out for some one on the roof, and 
was answered by Bet, who had been lustily shouting 
fo.i help. 


Yet She Loved Him. 


1 76 


“ Catch this rope which I throw up, and make it 
fast to a chimney stack !” 

As he spoke, he flung the rope, with a huge knot 
at the end, on to the roof, and found it was taken. 
In a few seconds Bet called out it was fast, and Lor- 
rimer tried it by his weight, and then trusted him- 
self to it, just as he heard Terry’s voice at his heels: 

“ For the Lord’s sake, sir, be careful wid your- 
self !” 

The next moment he was going hand over hand 
up the rope to the roof. 

Lorrimer was an experienced athlete, and the 
only danger to him lay in the possibility that the 
rope might be rotten or insecurely fastened. It 
was neither, and in a minute he stood on the roof, 
and Terry shouted to him : 

“ I ’m cornin’, sir, aisy !” 

On this roof were several women, such poor 
creatures as had been near Bet and Jane when they 
made their rush for the roof, and whom instinct 
told safety lay in following them. While looking 
through a sea of smoke and steam for Madge, his arm 
was seized. 

“ Oh, sir, save Lady Margaret !” 

“ Where, where, tell me ?” he asked, breathlessly. 

Jennie ran to the scuttle, but was met by a power- 
ful cloud of smoke, which sent her back, suffocating. 

“ Jennie, me darlint, yez can do nothin’ !” cried 
Terry, who had followed. “Tell Mr. Lorrymore 
an’ me where she is, an’ we ’ll save her !” 

Jennie saw she could do no good and yielded to 
common sense, She explained rapidly where 


Yet She Loved Him. 


177 


Madge was lying, but with very little hope ; it 
seemed impossible she could be living still. 

Then, while they attempted her rescue, Jennie 
went to the other poor souls to help them in getting 
down from the roof. She expected to find Bet and 
Jane, the two powerful women, busy at that work, 
but instead they had taken advantage of the rope to 
escape danger themselves and left the poor de- 
mented wretches helpless. 

‘‘ Come !” said Jennie to one of them. “ Let me 
show you how to go down.” 

Yet she trembled in being in such a position 
alone with three mad women, who though dazed 
and puzzled, seemed to have no ^ense of their 
danger. They might take it into their heads to 
throw her off the roof. 

Meanwhile, Lorrimer had thrown over his head 
the blanket Terry had brought and essayed to 
descend the flight of steps at the peril of his life. 
Twice had he been obliged to return to breathe, 
and he saw the flames approaching in waves of fire 
the spot where Madge must be lying, alive or dead ; 
and if he could not reach it at once, all hope must 
be renounced. A moment’s delay might be fatal, 
and yet his only hope would lose him several 
precious moments. He must risk it, if he was to 
succeed even in rescuing her dear body from the 
flames ! 

He left the scuttle and ran to where the engine 
was pouring streams of water on the building, and 
flinging the blanket where it would get wet, in a 
moment he threw it over him. With this he could 


178 


Yet She Loved Him. 


hope to stand the smoke and heat, and, leaving only 
his eyes visible, he once more went to the stairs, 
and this time reached the bottom. There he found 
his feet came in contact with some prostrate object. 
Stooping, he found it a human being — it must be 
Madge. He seized her rapidly, for the heat was 
intolerable, and took her upstairs. 

No sooner did he get her to the scuttle, where 
Terry stood to relieve him, than he would have 
fallen headlong back down into the fiercy chasm 
below but for Terry’s retaining grasp. 

Madge was allowed to drop on the roof while 
Terry dragged her deliverer out of his fearful 
danger. Once he was also out of the scuttle Terry 
called Jennie and resigning the unconscious Lorri- 
mer to her care, said ; 

“ I will take her ladyship — though whether she ’s 
a ladyship or only a body the Lord only knows — 
down from here, for I ’m just thinking, from the 
look of things, it may just all fall in a hape at anny 
moment, an’ the quicker we all get down, the 
safer.” 

He was busy, while he talked, arranging Madge’s 
inanimate form, so that he might get her down 
safely. 

It was no small undertaking to have her under 
one arm and cling himself to the rope with the 
other, but he called to some one below to come up 
and be at the top of the ladder to help, and a man, 
who he saw was Mike, came to his aid. 

A momentary doubt assailed him as to whether 
he should resign her to any one connected with the 


Yet She Loved Him. 


179 


place, but he had no choice ; below all was turmoil 
and confusion. 

The efforts of every one were more particularly 
'directed to the main part of the house. There were 
more needing help there, and the fact of two men 
being already busy at that wing, which seemed less 
a center of danger, diverted attention from it. 

“ Take care av her, Mike,” said Terry, as, clinging 
with one arm to the rope, he lowered Lady Madge 
into Mike’s outstretched arms, and then returned 
to the roof. 

His heart was full of vague fears, for knowing 
the terrific fire that was raging, he could not be- 
lieve but it would soon burst out of th^ wing win- 
dows and cut off their escape, even if the whole 
did not collapse and bury them in its ruins. 

And Lorrimer ! Senseless ! Inanimate ! How 
could he be got down ? 

Terry lost not an instant, however, in taking him 
from Jennie, who had been doing her best for him, 
and held him where he could get some of the water 
that fell over the building on his face, while Jennie 
once more tried to make the poor women use the 
rope and escape. 

“You will be buried alive or burned to death if 
you stay !” 

But one of the women started up at the words 
and went to the rope. Jennie then, calling to some 
one below, showed the poor woman what to do, and 
she got safely so far as the ladder ; then another 
followed her example ; and the third, watching it 
all with apparent attention, suddenly laughed de- 


I So 


Yet She Loved Him. 


risively and exclaiming : ‘‘ Much ado about nothing !” 
she stood on the edge, and gathering her petticoats 
about her as if she were going to jump over a rope, 
she gave a laugh, and before Jennie’s horrified cry 
could arrest her, she leaped off the roof. 

It was no time to think of this horror, though 
Jennie never forgot it to her dying day. It seemed 
more frightful than anything that had happened, 
but she heard Terry call : “ Jennie ! Jennie !” and 
she went to him. Lorrimer was regaining his 
senses, and with help could be got to the rope ; and, 
indeed, as he walked he got rapidly stronger and to 
understand the imminent danger ; but, to Terry’s 
despair, when he once more looked over, he found 
the flames encompassed the whole lower part of the 
house, and the ladder, their only hope, was burning. 




, CHAPTER XXV. ♦ 

^ Mike took Madge down the ladder safely enough, 

; and laid her on the ground out of the way of the 
crowd. Bet, who saw him come down with her, fol- 
lowed him, and said : 

“ Leave her to me, I ’ll bring her to, and you go 
and get some of them others.” « 

Mike, who knew nothing of Madge more than any 
other patient, resigned her willingly. And Bet, 
looking at her, said to herself : 

“Yes, this is the new un, and there must be a 
deal of money to be made by keeping her quiet, 
and I don’t see why I shouldn’t make it as well as 
Skinflint Marsh. Come along, my fine lady, if yer 
alive I ’ll make something of you, and perhaps I 
can make as much if ye ’re dead. No one need 
know it.” 

She lifted her as she spoke in her brawny arms, 
and carried her slight figure with ease. She kept 
well in the shadow, and in consequence of the glare 
of light everywhere, the shadow, where it was, was 
very dense. She made the circuit of the house, and 
went rapidly across a piece of ground at the back 
till she came to a shed. There she laid Madge. 

[i8i] 

L : 


i 82 


Yet She Loved Him, 


“ There, no one will trouble this place in a hurry 
on a night like this. And now 1 11 go back and see 
if I can see Patrick ; he 11 be hanging round some- 
where, where there is nothing to do and plenty to 
see.” 

She went back among the crowd, looking eagerly 
right and left, then she pushed her way through to 
the road, but the one she was looking for was not 
to be seen. 

“ He ’s been raking round, and found something, 
and gone off with it before he ’s forced to give it up. 
Well, he 11 be back.” 

As she spoke to herself, she noticed a lady who 
was on the far side of the road, evidently watching 
the fire ; but she seemed so out of keeping with the 
rough crowd that Bet found herself wondering 
where she came from, she seemed in the light of 
the flames to be so elegantly dressed. Suddenly, 
while she was indulging her curiosity about her, to 
her great surprise, the lady came near her and 
spoke : 

“ Are you connected with the asylum in any way ?” 

Bet eyed her curiously. 

“ What if I am ?” she asked. 

“ If you are, you may make some money if you 
can tell me something of a friend I had there.” 

“ Well, I wants to make money.” 

“ Then you were in the asylum ?” 

I am an attendant there.” 

“Ah, that’s what I want! Now, can you walk 
out of this crowd with me ? It may be worth your 
while.” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


183 


“ Come over here,” said Bet, leading the way to a 
bank on which stood a tall hedge, where they might 
escape notice. “ Now, tell me what you want, for 1 
have summat to attend to.” 

“ You know a young lady who was taken by a 
gentleman last night to the asylum ?” 

Bet looked at her dubiously. 

You need not fear. I have no wish to rescue 
her from her seclusion. I only want to know about 
her. I ’ll give you a sovereign if you can tell me.” 

“ Yes, I know. There was such a patient.” 

“ Is she dead ?” asked Laura — for it was she — 
anxiously. 

Do yer wish she was?” asked the WQman. 

“ No,” said Laura ; “ but I want to know where 
she is, and if I can find her without any one know- 
ing it, I will give any one ten pounds.” 

“ Look a 5 ^ere — you may as well tell me what you 
want. I know where the gal is, but you couldn’t 
get her from here now openly without bein’ seen, 
and if you live anywheres near, you couldn’t take 
her without it bein’ known as you had one of old 
Marsh’s lunatics with you, and as the lady’s hus- 
band put her there, you ’d have to give her up.” 

Laura thought she could manage better than 
that, but at the same time it might be better still if 
she could seem to have nothing to do with her, and 
this woman had evidently more interest in keeping 
faith with her than in deceiving her. 

“ Listen ! I will trust you, and if you serve me 
well I will pay you well. That lady is necessary to 
me, but I do not care just now to have her free. 


184 


Yet She Loved Him, 


Only while she is in Doctor Marsh’s care she is out 
of my power. He is employed by her husband. 
You must know some other such place where I could 
put her for a few months.” 

Bet was silent a moment. 

“ If you like, I ’ll take charge of her. I ’ve got a 
place no one ’ll ever find her in, unless you like, 
and you can pay me as well as any one else.” 

“ Well, that is not a bad idea. But where will 
you keep her ? Have you a house ?” 

'‘Yes ; and I’ll tell you, it’s just the best place 
for the like of her as you wants to keep dark. My 
husband, Patrick O’Shane, makes *a little potheen 
on the quiet, and we’ve a place all snug where the 
gauger never has been yet, and she can be took 
there an nobody never the wiser.” 

“ Well, she might be taken there at first, that’s 
true, and I have an idea. Can’t you pretend to pity 
her, treat her very kindly and make believe to be 
hiding her from her husband and Doctor Marsh, 
who are advertising for her as an escaped lunatic ? 
This will insure her staying quietly, and also make 
her grateful to you and listen to anything you may 
tell her later. I may want you to go to America 
with her, or somewhere. If you are faithful to me, 
I ’ll pay you well.” 

“ Well, ma’am,” said Bet, " so long as you pays 
me you ’ll have no cause to complain, though I don’t 
know much about soft-sawderin’ people.” 

Laura smiled. She well understood that a policy 
of cuffs and blows would have suited her tool much 
better. But she had her own plan in her head, and, 


Yet She Loved Him. 


1^5 


happily for her unfortunate victim, it was one to 
which good treatment was necessary. 

Laura took out her purse and gave a five-pound 
note to the woman. 

“ This is an earnest of what I will do. I am stay- 
ing near — at Clondalkin — and to-morrow morning 
come to me at the inn there, and I will make an 
arrangement with you, when I know you have suc- 
ceeded in getting the lady away.” 

What is her name ?” asked Bet. 

“ Mrs. St. John.” 

“ Well, I see Pat. I ’ll come to-morrow and let 
you know the result.” 

Bet hurried away in the direction of a^little man 
whom Laura supposed to be her husband. She 
watched her eagerly talking to him, and the two 
went into the courtyard round the burning build- 
ing, from which the people were clearing, for it was 
getting dangerous to stand so near. But Bet and 
Pat hastened to the back of the house and across 
the meadow to the shed where unhappy Madge had 
been left. She was still there and senseless, for, 
long as the scene has taken to relate, a very short 
time had elapsed since she had been rescued from 
the roof. 

Laura watched, expecting to see them emerge 
with Madge ; but they did not come, and then she 
began to have doubts as to her own wisdom. What 
did she know of that ill-favored woman after all, 
except that she looked capable of any crime ? 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Terry was filled with despair when he looked and 
saw that their hope of escape was cut off. 

Lorrimer’s life and his own they had chosen to 
risk, but he could not forget that Jennie was there 
solely at his instigation. Ah, he would have given 
his soul to ransom her lifej if it might have been ! 

Instinctively he had snatched the rope up, before 
the flames from below should burn it, too ; and yet, 
without the ladder, of what use was it ? It was so 
short. 

He went with it to the chimney-stack, round 
which it was fastened, and, to his joy, found it was 
wound three times round. He had forgotten that 
the rope had been only needed to reach the ladder, 
and Lorrimer had paid out all that he did not need 
for additional security above. 

Even this would not give sufficient length to reach 

[i86] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


187 


the ground, but the chimney was several feet from 
the edge of the roof. He rapidly unfastened it 
and then rushed across to the back of the house. 
There the flames were pouring out ; but at the side 
there were no windows, and here the attempt might 
be made. To stay where they were was certain 
death. To trust to the rope, in the uncertainty how 
far it would reach, might be death, too, or broken 
limbs ; but the risk must be taken. 

He ran to Jennie and Lorrimer, the latter with 
his full senses about him now, but still weak. 

“ Jennie ! Mr. Lorrimer !” he cried. “ Come this 
minute an’ let me help you ! Jennie, me darlint, 
I ’d have given me life for ye, an’ I ’ve 15rought ye 
into this danger. I don’t know that I can save yer, 
but I ’ll try, an’ thin Mr. Lorrimer ’ll go down, but 
you first, Jennie dear.” 

There were sobs in the poor fellow’s voice as he 
spoke, but even as he spoke, he was hurrying them 
across, and he said : 

“ Jennie, I don’t know how far this rope will go 
down, but I hope pretty near to the bottom, only as 
there is none to spare to reach the chimbley, I ’ll 
hold it at this end.” 

He and Lorrimer then explained in as few words 
as possible, how she must pass hand under hand to 
prevent skinning her palms, and that she must not 
allow the rope to slip through them, and then with 
a fervent: “God in heaven bless and save you!” 
from both, and with a wildly trembling heart and 
a feeling that she was going to her death, Jennie 
was led by Lorrimer to the parapet, while Terry 


i88 


Yet She Loved Him. 


lay on his back, his feet braced against the parapet 
and the rope twisted round his hands. 

“ Jennie, darlint, when ye come to the end av the 
rope, don’t let go till I call : ‘ Drop !’ ” 

Jennie heard, but made no answer. She had no 
hope herself of reaching the ground safely, yet she 
knew if she refused to venture the two men would 
not save themselves, and death at any rate up there 
was inevitable, and such a frightful death ! 

Lorrimer helped her over the edge and, lying 
flat on his stomach, he leaned over and held her 
hands on the rope till the first shock of finding her- 
self in mid-air was over and her nerves were some- 
what steadied ; then he said : “ Courage !” and could 
do no more, for Jennie clasped her rope convul- 
sively, and almost feared to loose one hand to pass 
it down. Only the recollection that two other lives 
depended on her swiftness gave her courage, and 
then she began to descend slowly and steadily, hand 
under hand, and as she went down, Terry rose to a 
sitting posture, and then, Lorrimer bracing him, he 
leaned to the furthest point to give her every inch 
of rope, and then he called out : 

“ Drop when ye are at the end !” A few moments 
of agonized doubt, and Jennie left the rope and 
dropped. “Are yez hurt, Jennie ?” called Terry. 
But there was no answer. “ Jennie, Jennie, dear !” 
No answer. 

And then Lorrimer said : 

“ Terry, you go now. There is no time to lose.” 

“ Alas ! Mr. Lorrimer, is it joking ye are, to talk 
about me going ?” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


189 


“Come, Terry,” he vSaid sternly, “you jeopardize 
my life by any objections. I am going to see you 
down first, then I will fasten this rope somehow and 
go myself.” 

“ But, Mister—” 

“ Come ! There is not a moment, and Jennie 
may be lying dying at the bottom. Go at once !” 

It was no use to combat further. He saw Lor- 
rimer meant to be last on the roof, and then Terry, 
grumbling at leaving him, got over_ the parapet, 
Lorrimer bracing himself as Terry had done, and 
Terry began his descent. Terry was slightly built, 
but weakened as he was by what he »had gone 
through, Lorrimer found it almost impossible to 
support his weight with his hands, and as he got 
lower and lower, it cut into the flesh, and he thought 
it must go, when it was suddenly released from be- 
low. Terry also had dropped. 

And now Lorrimer looked about him. There was 
nowhere to fasten that rope but to the chimney, 
which would shorten it by at least twenty-five feet. 
No ; that was, if not death, a crippled life. He 
would wait his fate where he was. He leaned over 
and listened for Terry. He called, but got no 
answer. 

“ They must both be stunned ; they can hardly 
be dead,” he thought. And then he again leaned, 
peering over. Nothing was to be seen, for while 
front and back of the house were in a lurid glow, 
this part was in densest shadow. 

Suddenly there was a crash behind him ; it was as 
if the very earth was shaken ; a cloud of sparks and 


190 


Yet She Loved Him, 


dust and smoke. The roof had fallen in, leaving 
the .sheer wall on which he was standing, and that 
rocked and swayed. It was scarcely possible it 
could stand many minutes, and his position was, in- 
deed, hopeless. Not a ladder could be reared against 
that tottering wall. A rope would not help him. 
Death stared him in the face ! And yet he had 
already escaped a terrible danger ; had he fastened 
the rope to the chimney, he would only have had 
time to begin his descent and would have been 
hurled into space. That chimney was now part of 
the heap of ruins. 

He clung to the fragment of parapet. It was just 
about a foot wide, and he had room to remain, but 
he dare not change his position. He had been 
sitting when the crash came ; he remained so now. 
But for how long could he stay there, choking and 
blinded with the smoke and steam and dust, all 
blistered and suffering from the heat ? And any 
attempt to rescue him must precipitate his destruc- 
tion. And if he must die, and Madge should live 
what would become of her? Surely her enemies 
would prevail. 




CHAPTER XXVII. 

When St. John reached London, his first step was 
to dispose of the jewels he had stolen from Madge. 
This he did even before he went to his chambers, 
and then, his pockets well filled, and with the cer- 
tainty of a hundred pounds more from Laura, he 
felt for the present he could defy fate. To do what 
he contemplated ready money would be needful. 

When he reached his chambers he went to his 
escritoire and, opening one of the secret drawers, 
took from it a long, folded document, indorsed : 


Last Will and Testament of 
Henry Egerton Doyle— Lord Ferrars. 


Poor Lady Madge would have recognized this 
document with horror. 

“ Now to hide this where it will be found, and 
therein Laura can help me, and, for vengeance’s 
sake, she may be trusted. She has a general per- 
mission from Gerald to visit Melford, she tells me. 

[191] 


I g2 . K?/ SAe L^ved Him. 


Then she must manage to inclose it in some port- 
folio or some unsearched place. That will not be 
difficult for a woman so clever, and then I will offer 
a very large reward for the recovery of the will, 
which will set every one on the alert, or I may ob- 
tain a search-warrant and find it myself. The great 
thing must be that no one can connect me with 
placing it in the house. If I had only known what 
it contained ! To think, after all, I should get hold 
of the wrong document, and be compelled to allow 
that other one to be proved. But it was the only 
way, and it cleared me from any awkward suspicion. 
Bah, it was a huge blunder, the whole business, but 
I am going to set it right. I don’t work so hard to 
reap no benefit by it !” 

He carefully placed the paper in his pocket and 
left his chambers. He called a hansom-cab and 
had himself driven to vSt. John’s Wood. He deter- 
mined this time to confide entirely in Laura. He 
had confirmation of the report of Gerald’s intended 
marriage to show her, and that he believed would 
bind her to him. He never dreamed that Laura 
would attempt to force Gerald to marry her, and 
would use him as a means to that end. Given a 
bad woman and a bad man, the woman is far more 
subtle in villainy, and will generally out-maneuver 
the man. 

When he reached the villa it was evening. He 
was told Miss Perceval was out. 

“Out!” he echoed. He had not counted on her 
being out at that hour. “ Perhaps she will not be 
long: I ’ll wait.” 


[ 


FOR ON THE UNGLOVED HAND GLEAMED AN EMERALD WEDDING-RING.— «S'ec Paye 102. 





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Yet She Loved Him, 


193 


“Oh, she will not be home to-night, sir,” said the 
servant. “ She is in the country somewhere, and 
said she might be gone a week.” 

“ Oh, indeed !” 

He left his card, and then was returning to his 
cab when, out of the ground, as it seemed to him, 
there rose before him the face of Cicely, clad in 
some long, dark garments, which he could not de- 
fine in the obscurity, only a white face appeared to 
him, and a white hand clasping something to her, 
on whichrflashed with a baleful light, even in the 
darkness, the fatal ring ; and from the lips came 
hissing forth the words : 

“ Poisoner^ vengeance is zvaiting !" 

To his overwrought imagination the words sounded 
sepulchral. The reader will recognize in them, and 
in what seemed to the guilty man an apparition, 
only the very human agency of Mrs. Mortimer ; but 
St. John, with a low cry of horror, fled along the 
path till he reached his cab. He sprang into it, 
bathed in sweat, and when he reached his chambers 
he feared to enter them. He was without a man, 
and they were lonely. 

No, he would not go there. He hastily told the 
man to drive to the nearest hotel, and there he 
flattered himself he would recover from the shock 
— but in vain. 

He plunged into a night’s dissipation, drinking 
champagne and playing cards till the small hours. 
The night had to be faced at last, and then he saw, 
even when he closed his eyes, the livid face of 
Cicely ! He had succeeded in persuading himself 


194 


Yet She Loved Him. 


that the apparition he had seen in his own hall was 
but the result of a disordered imagination, but he 
could do so no longer. 

The next morning he rose from a sleepless night, 
pale, trembling and nervous. He hurried down to 
his breakfast, an unheard-of thing for him to do, 
but he longed to be with human faces around him. 

“ I must get a man to-day. I can’t stand this,” he 
muttered. 

He opened the morning paper while preparing to 
eat his breakfast, and his pale face turned more 
ghastly, his hands shook so he could scarce read 
the print. The heading of an article had seemed 
to burn his brain : 

Fire in a Lunatic Asylum near Dublin. Terrible 
Loss OF Life !” 

Then followed an account of the fire and a list of 
the inmates saved. Those of the lost were not 
given, but among the saved was not the name under 
which he had left Madge. 

That Margaret should perish thus filled him with 
horror. Had she stood in his way he would have 
murdered her probably as coolly as he had done 
Cicely, but that was a different thing to her being 
burned alive, and then she was most vitally neces- 
sary to him. Everything he had done, and intended 
to do, fell to the ground if she should be actually 
dead. 



CHAPTER XXVIIL 

When Jennie, with one hurried prayer, let her- 
self drop from the rope, she truly believed she was 
going to her death, or, at best, to have her limbs 
broken ; but, instead of reaching the earth with a 
terrible crash, as she expected, she found, although 
the distance was some twenty feet, that she fell into 
close-growing shrubbery, which so broke her fall 
that, save for scratches and torn clothes, she found 
herself, when she managed to get out, as well as 
ever. 

With a momentary prayer of heartfelt thanks to 
God, she awaited the descent of Terry, and, wish- 
ing she could tell him of her safety, she called up 
to him. 

Her voice, however, was lost amid the uproar and 
the sound of the engines ; but she had not long to 
wait before Terry, too, dropped into the friendly 
bushes. 

“ The Lord be praised !” he fervently ejaculated. 
“Jennie, me dear, where are you?” 

“ Here, Terry, safe and sound.” 

[195] 



196 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Terry was out of the bushes in a trice, and in his 
joy he flung his arm round Jennie’s neck and kissed 
her; and Jennie, feeling it was no time for coquetry, 
perhaps, did not reprove him. 

“And now the master! Ah, be me sowl !” he 
cried, as a terrific crash told them the roof had 
fallen, and a huge tongue of flame shot up to heaven 
from the billows of smoke. 

A cry of horror escaped Jennie’s lips, for they 
believed Lorrimer, the noble, self-sacrificing hero, 
was ingulfed in the ruins. Terry was speechless, 
and for some seconds stood gazing up and picturing 
to himself the chasm into which his poor master 
had fallen. And Jennie, with tears raining down 
her cheeks, gazed, too. So complete was the wreck 
that both felt there could be no hope of rescue ; 
that he must be crushed and buried in the burning 
mass. Yet, when able to realize the truth, Terry 
said : 

“ I ’ll run round to the front and see if I can get 
any chance of finding his poor body, Jennie ; you 
keep here — away from the crowd.” 

He waited for nothing, but dashed away, and 
Jennie stood hopelessly looking up at the parapet, 
over which, not a minute ago, they had expected to 
see him coming to safety. 

The smoke was now somewhat less, the flames 
still brighter, and Jennie fancied, in the clearer 
atmosphere, she could see the outline of a figure. 
She ran a few yards farther back to get a better 
view. Thank God I Thank God ! He was there 
still. She did not realize the danger he was still 


Yet She Loved Him. 


197 


in — that to himself his case was so hopeless that he 
had given himself up for lost, and was only await- 
ing death. She only knew he was there — alive 
still ! 

She rushed to the front of the house, where the 
crowd was a mass of excited people, surging back 
and forth, as one scene after another passed before 
their eyes. 

Her cries of “ Terry ! Terry !” were unnoticed ; 
her wild face and gestures found too many counter- 
parts to attract much attention. 

Oh, if she could but find Terry ! 

The flames had burned everything that could 
feed them ; the walls stood gaunt and bare, smol- 
dering beams and fragments of woodwork alone re- 
maining, but the center was a mass of d^bris^ sending 
up a column of lurid smoke glowing with sparks 
and embers. Could it be possible poor Terry (dear 
Terry, she said now in her heart) had rushed in 
there? 

If so, he was lost ! 

And then, as her heart began to turn sick with 
fear, she saw him eagerly importuning for some- 
thing, and she pushed her way to him. 

“ Terry, Terry, the master’s there ! Oh, save 
him !” 

Those standing round, hearing of some one to be 
saved, now listened eagerly to her. 

“ Come, b’ys !” shouted Terry. 

And in a minute the crowd, which, in consequence 
of the side of the house being a dead wall without 
windows, had kept only to the front and back, now 


198 


Yet She Loved Him. 


rushed to the lately deserted spot and soon saw 
Lorrimer. 

A great shout went up and told him some effort 
to help him was to be made. Lorrimer smiled bit- 
terly. There was only one way. Would they think 
of it ? And if they did, would they be able to carry 
it out ? He was so weak and hoarse from the smoke, 
his throat being almost raw from what he had in- 
haled and his position such that he could not hope 
to make any instructions intelligible below ; but he 
saw them bringing ladders, many hands ready to 
help, and he could see them lashing two short lad- 
ders to make one long one. 

They could not hope a ladder would rest against 
that wall without falling into the general ruin. 
But no ; they have seized the idea. They are lash- 
ing two more ladders, and then Terry and another 
man go round to the back of the house with it. He 
watched in the murky gloom for their appearance 
inside the wall. The heat and smoke made the ef- 
fort very hazardous, but, fortunately, just under the 
wall it was comparatively clear ; the mass of ruins 
was in the center. And soon Terry and another 
man came bringing the ladder between them ; and 
stepping carefully, to avoid the masses of hot em- 
bers, they soon stood just under where he was and 
planted the ladder, holding it perpendicularly. 
Lorrimer now watched with eager interest. He 
had hitherto feared that their well-meant efforts 
would but hasten the catastrophe, but now he saw 
they realized the danger and might avoid it. 

Terry stood looking up, and Lorrimer waved his 


Vet She Loved Hint. 


199 


hand to him, which he answered with delight. 
Lorrimer now saw where he could help himself ; he 
commanded both sides of the wall by his position. 
He motioned to Terry to approach his ladder, and 
he took the top rung in his hand ; there, at the other 
side the ladder was standing in the same way. 
Waiting for the signal, Lorrimer, holding as he 
was to Terry’s ladder, could lean forward a little to 
throw his voice down, and made the men below 
understand they were to bring it under his hand, 
and then with the top of each ladder in each hand, 
he slowly brought them together and held them, 
though not without danger of being cast down by 
the efforts of the men below to place them at a 
right incline, for they could not realize how the 
vibration and the effort required to hold them in 
place, while they were adjusted below, jeopardized 
his position ; but at last the two ladders met in an 
acute angle so that, while steadied by the wall, they 
were yet dependent on each other rather than on 
the frail brick-work. Terry shouted lustily to those 
on the other side to hold on firmly, and then he 
ran half-way up the ladder on the inside to steady 
it against Lorrimer’s weight, as he should descend 
on the other. 

And now, raising his stiffened, blistered body 
from his perilous position, he placed his feet on the 
ladder and began slowly to descend. As he got to 
the middle, one of the men below shouted to Terry, 
and now that all danger of Lorrimer’s weight over- 
balancing the inside ladder was at an end, Terry, 
too, began to descend. There was no sound ut- 


200 


Yet She Loved Him. 


tered now till Lorrimer stood on the ground safe, 
and then a great cheer went up. And Lorrimer, 
strong man as he was, staggered and fell, fainting, 
into the arms of those who had helped to rescue 
him. 




CHAPTER XXIX. 

When Bet and Patrick lifted the slight form of 
Lady Madge she slightly stirred ; she was evidently 
recovering from the stupor into which the smoke 
and terror had cast her. 

“ Take off yer coat, Pat, and kiver her face, then 
put yer cap oh her head, and we ’ll carry her betune 
us, and if any one sees us, they’ll just think it ’s a 
a man with too much whisky.” 

But it was not likely any one would see them, for 
the way was dark,' and they struck across the fields 
till they reached the road. After walking some 
distance, the round tower of Clondalkin came in 
view. They then turned sharply off the road, and 
were on the brink of an ancient quarry, which was 
partly overgrown by weeds and trees, only its form 
and the white face of the stone, as it broke out here 
and there from the green, indicated what it once 
had been. 

Bet stooped and lifted aside a huge tangle of 
weeds and vines, and with her foot pushed what 
seemed a great block of stone ; it turned slowly 
round on a pivot, and revealed a narrow entrance. 

[ 201 ] 


202 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Bet entered first, then Lady Madge was passed 
through the aperture, and Pat followed. As soon 
as he was within the narrow passage he pulled the 
tangle Bet had displaced back over the mouth of 
the cavern and then fitted the stone, which, heavy 
as it was, had been so nicely adjusted that it 
revolved with comparative ease back into its 
place. 

He struck a match, and taking a long resin torch 
from a cleft in the wall, they went forward till they 
came to a great vaulted room, in which a turf fire 
was casting its ruddy glow all round and making 
the air thick with its pungent smoke. Bet now un- 
covered Madge’s head and found her great eyes 
were open ; she was no longer swooning, but evi- 
dently so confused that she did not know where she 
was. 

Now, Pat,” said Bet, in low tones, “ this girl is 
to be cosseted and taken care of and made to be- 
lieve we are her best friends and are hiding her 
from danger. What the danger is we ’re not to 
know, madam thinks ; but she ’ll come none o’ that 
onto me ! I ’ll find out, and then if she turns 
against us, I ’ll turn on her ; but our game is soft- 
sawder.” 

“ I ’m glad of that,” said the little man, who was 
evidently in awe of his better and larger half. “ I ’m 
none for ill-using young ladies.” 

“ You ’re for nothin’ but drinkin’ and smoking,’’ 
said Bet, contemptuously. “ Hand me the cray- 
ther.” 

The “ crayther ” was whisky in a black jug, 


Yet She Loved Him, 


203 


which she held to Madge’s lips and poured liberally 
down her throat. 

“ There, that ’ll bring yer to it, if anything will, 
and put some color into yer white face ! Pshaw ! 
Such a fuss over a puling thing like that !” 

Bet had a profound contempt for all delicate or 
small people. 

Half-choked with the distasteful liquor, Madge 
was yet benefited by the roughly administered 
dose. She began to look around, to remember, and, 
seeing this. Bet came to hpr and adopted the wheed- 
ling tone of one, ferocious by nature, assuming kind- 
ness. 

“ My dearie, ye ’re safe now, and we ’ll take care of 
yer. Yer needn’t fret.” 

Madge looked at her and recognized the brutal 
woman of the asylum, and shuddered. Had she 
fallen utterly in her power ? 

“ Tell me about the others ! Jennie ! Where is 
she ?” 

“ Jennie ?” said Bet, wondering. “Who is she? 
The lady as is going to take care of you and keep 
yer from them as are yer enemies?” 

“Lady?” echoed Madge. Then remembering 
women of Bet’s class call all women ladies, she said : 
“ Yes. What became ot her?” 

“ She ’s all right. But don’t ask no questions ; I 
can’t a-bear people as ask questions. You won’t go 
back to no such place as old Marsh’s, and you are 
going to be hidden here for a while.” 

Madge’s conclusion was that Bet had been bribed, 
through Jennie, by Lorrimer. It was sweet to think 


204 


Yet She Loved Him. 


she was protected by him, and she asked no more 
questions. The reaction from the terrible excite- 
ment she had undergone and the reek of the turf 
made her drowsy. Bet had laid her on a bed of dried 
moss when she brought her in, and she fell asleep 
almost directly. 

When she awoke, she found herself alone. The 
fire had been newly made up, a bowl of porridge 
and a pitcher of milk were placed on an inverted 
barrel, which did duty for a table near her. She 
understood that the milk was for her, and she drank 
of it heartily and then stood up. She felt sick and 
giddy, and was glad to sink once more on the pallet 
of moss ; but, although her condition was wretched, 
she believed herself under the protection of Lorri- 
mer and rejoiced. Perhaps a few hours would re- 
lease her from this place. It was lighted only by 
the glow of the fire. She looked round and saw the 
glittering walls, the stalactite roof, which gleamed, 
where the smoke had not dimmed it, like diamonds, 
and she knew she was in a cavern. 

Bet had gone to the scene of the fire. Her place 
was a lucrative one, for not every robust woman 
would have suited Doctor Marsh, and she was 
anxious not to lose her place in his favor. He 
would lose no time, she knew, in opening his asylum 
again, and would want her even now to take charge 
of the poor creatures rescued, but she would plead 
burned hands, in order to be free a few days. Jane 
could manage, so she had bound up both her hands, 
and went to report herself. 

There she heard of the gentleman about whom 


Yet She Loved Him. 


205 


there seemed a mystery, who had risked and nearly 
lost his life in attempting to rescue a patient, and 
who now lay on a bed of fever, and of his servant, 
who was making constant inquiries for her. Bet, 
and for one of the patients whom Doctor Marsh 
supposed to be among those who had lost their lives 
but whom this man and a woman insisted had been 
saved and given to Mike, who in turn declared he 
had given her into the charge of Bet. Doctor 
Marsh had got the use of an empty house not far 
from the scene of the fire,%and had there taken his 
unfortunate patients, three of whom, besides Jennie 
and Lady Madge, were missing and given up for lost. 

Doctor Marsh had his own opinion about Jennie’s 
mission, and the gossip that was now rife about 
Lorrimer’s rescue of one patient and her disappear- 
ance, but he wanted as little stir as possible. 
He affected, therefore, to pay no attention, and to 
believe five souls had perished. Among those 
known to have done so was the unfortunate author 
of the disaster, “ Miss Braddon.” She had been seen 
dancing in mad glee to her death. 

It was Jane who poured forth all the hews to Bet 
and, eying the latter curiously, said : 

“ What did you do with her when Mike gave her 
till yez ?” 

“ What did I do ? Put her on the ground, to be 
sure !” said Bet, roughly. “ It was no time to be 
paying attentions to any one.” 

“ What ’s come of her, then ?” asked Jane. 

“ How should I know ? Old Marsh could tell 
better than us perhaps. She was in some one’s 


2o6 


Yet She Loved Him. 


way, that ’s sure. Perhaps she was chucked back 
into the house to die comfortably and cost nothin’ 
to bury her,” said the woman with a grin. 

“Well, there’s been foul play somewhere,” said 
Jane. 

“ If there has, depend on it. Marsh knows all 
about it, and won’t want no stir made.” 

This seemed to strike Jane. He certainly did 
not seem to want a stir made. Bet might be right. 
She did not see what interest Bet could have in the 
matter — unless, indeed, she had been hired by 
Marsh to do the deed she spoke of. Jane knew her 
to be capable of any enormity. She Thought it 
might be wiser to hold her tongue. 

When she saw the doctor and told him that she 
was burned, he questioned her quietly about the 
missing lady who had been given into her charge. 
She then told him the same thing as she had told 
others, adding that, in consequence of her burned 
hands, she had been obliged to lay her down on the 
grass at the side of the house and to go away. 
When she came back she found she was not there, 
and thought she had been taken care of with the 
other rescued people. 

Doctor Marsh was silent. He had no doubt of 
Bet, but he believed Madge had been carried away 
by friend or foe. 

When she had gained all the news she could and 
obtained leave of absence, she went back to the 
cavern to see after her charge, and also to get ready 
for her expedition to Laura, who had given her 
name as Miss Graham. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

A week passed, and Lorrimer still lay on his bed 
of sickness at the inn at Clondalkin, to which, as 
soon as possible, he had been taken. He refused to 
be taken back to Dublin, and here, where he could 
hear everything that went on about Doctor Marsh 
and his patients, he insisted on remaining. His 
anxiety on Madge’s account drove the doctor who 
attended him to despair, and he predicted he would 
have a relapse, and he forbade Terry to bring him 
any news from outside at all ; but this caused the 
patient such irritation that he was obliged to re- 
move the interdict. At last he said to the sick man : 

“ As I understand, you are in great distress about 
a lady who is in danger, to whom your illness is a 
misfortune. Do you not think it is well to give 
yourself every chance of speedy recovery in order 
to attend to your affairs? You will be ill for months 
if you go on in this way.” 

Then Lorrimer exercised self-control, and de- 
termined, for Madge’s sake, to fight against himself 
and to do nothing that could retard his recovery. 

But Madge — where could she be ? That she was 
alive he had no doubt. She must still be in Doctor 

[207] 


2o8 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Marsh’s hands. No one else had interest in spirit- 
ing her away. But in vain Terry watched and in- 
quired ; there was nothing to be heard of her. . 

The house Doctor Marsh had pro te7n. was not 
favorable to secrecy — a commonplace new villa — 
and there was nothing heard of a patient resembling 
Madge ; and Doctor Marsh himself was ostensibly 
seeking her. How he wearied to be up and work- 
ing for her ! He could not believe but he would 
find her if he were able to seek her himself. 

Had he been up, perhaps he would have altered 
his mind about her having no othei* enemy near. 
For the first three days he was at the inn, a lady, 
whom he would have recognized, though T^rr}^ did 
not, was also a guest there. Unluckily, Jennie had 
returned to Dublin, to the lodging Terry had found 
for her before they started on their ill-starred enter- 
prise, or Laura would have had a watchful and dis- 
trustful eye ever upon her. As it was, after the 
first morning she had told Bet she would meet her 
in a spot the latter indicated, so as to avoid any 
gossip there might be ; and then, after satisfying 
herself that Madge was in safe-keeping, and she 
could lay her hand on her at any moment, she left 
Clondalkin and returned to London. 

Poor Lady Margaret, gently nurtured child of 
wealth as she was, was lying in that comfortless 
cavern, in which daylight never penetrated, and 
because she believed it safe she never thought to 
murmur. If she could only remain hidden from 
her terrible husband— if husband he was ! Ah, if 
it could ever be that he was not her husband — that 


Yet She Loved Him. 


209 


the thought which had once covered her with humil- 
iation and shame could now prove true ! ^ 

Bet had made some arrangement for her com- 
fort, not knowing how angry Miss Graham might 
be if she should find she had been ill-treated ; 
therefore an inner chamber, of which there were 
three in the cavern, had been provided with wash- 
ing utensils and a bed of fresh moss ; and as a turf- 
fire burned on the hearth constantly, it was warm. 
And Madge, finding that Bet really was doing her 
best to make her comfortable, had asked if she 
could not get some books for her of any kind and 
writing materials, and she had brought her several 
and a supply of stationery, and Madge was content. 
She was not forced to be in the company of Patrick 
and his wife, and kept to her own chamber. And 
thus, her heart contented in the belief that her true 
friend Lorrimer had saved her, and was biding his 
timd for sortie good purpose, the days passed not too 
miserably. 

****** 

When Laura reached her home, she found a let- 
ter from Gerald, telling her he was coming to 
London in a few days. He had something which 
was a painful duty to tell her, and Laura set her 
teeth hard as she read ; she guessed what it was he 
was preparing her for, and she meant to be pre- 
pared for him. 

Mrs. Mortimer came to her almost directly she 
arrived, and in excited tones told her of St. John’s 
visit, and then said : 

But I have longed for you to come. I want you 


210 


Yel She Loved Him. 


to advise me ; I have made a great discovery, a 
glorious one.” 

Laura looked at her inquiringly. 

Look !” she exclaimed, exhibiting a paper. 

Laura took it, and saw it was a certificate of mar- 
riage between Cicely Warren, spinster, and Law- 
rence St. John, bachelor.” Laura’s eyes glowed 
with triumph. She had anticipated a very hard 
battle to fight with Lawrence, should she even get 
Madge out of the way, and succeed in suppressing 
the will as the condition on which Gerald was to be 
made to marry her, but Lawrence would be a for- 
midable antagonist, and might, at the last moment, 
upset all her plans, if there was a hope of him get- 
ting any part or power over Madge’s money; but 
with this paper she need have no fear. First she 
would, when the time came, prove to him that he 
was never legally married to Lady Margaret, and 
had no claim on her, and then show him he was 
liable to arrest as a bigamist at any time she might 
choose to betray him. The time for this would come 
when Gerald was ready to marry her to save his 
fortune. Till then she must act as if she worked 
with Lawrence. Now, too, her doubts about Madge 
were solved. She had intended sending her abroad 
secretly and by force, with Bet ; now she would not 
be forced to a plan so full of difficulty and danger. 
St. John had no real claim on her, but while Madge 
believed he had, she could easily pensuade her to do 
her bidding. She would go back to Ireland as soon 
as she found out what St. John had wanted to see 
her for. 


Yet She Loved Him. 


2II 


All this went like a flash through her brain, while 
poor single-souled Mrs. Mortimer believed she was 
only thinking of Cicely wrongs, so tenderly did 
she condole with her and seem to share her triumph 
in the knowledge that her sister was an honest 
woman. 

“ Keep that, dear Mrs. Mortimer, and guard it as 
the most precious thing on earth. I will tell you 
when to use it with most terrible effect. While St. 
John has no trace of his wife, it will not harm him 
half so much as when he has found her, as he cer- 
tainly will, and is just entering on the enjoyment 
of the fruits of his crime." 

She sat down and wrote a line to St. John, telling 
him she had heard of his call on her return to town 
and would be glad to see him. 

Almost directly he answered her note in person. 

He was looking so unlike himself that she asked 
him whether he had been ill. 

“ I have been terribly worried. Did you see an 
account of the burning of a private madhouse near 
Dublin ?’’ 

“ Yes, of course. A horrible affair !’’ 

“ Well, I had great fears that Madge had per- 
ished, and although I had put her there for safe- 
keeping, it shocked me that she should die so 
frightful a death." 

“Well?" asked Laura, eagerly, not even pretend- 
ing to be shocked at his confession of what he had 
done with Madge, but very anxious to know what 
he had learned. 

“ I say I had great fear, but I have positive in- 


212 


Yet She Loved Him. 


formation that she did not perish, that she was 
rescued from the fire and has disappeared since. 
And as Lorrimer is insanely in love with her and 
has been working against me all along, of course, I 
suspect he has her concealed. I kngw he was on 
the spot.” 

Laura knew this, too, but she was delighted his 
suspicions took this turn. 

“ Of course, my finding her is only a matter of 
time. Laura, can I trust you absolutely?” 

“ Is it not my interest to serve you to be revenged 
on Gerald ?” 

“ Yes, I suppose so. Now it is your interest that 
the will should be found. I have it, as, perhaps, 
you have guessed ; but you alone, who are abso- 
lutely without interest in it, can help me to have it 
found. You have always access to Melford ; you 
must know of some old portfolio or book in which 
you can place it — some place where it may readily 
have escaped search as unlikely to be made the 
depository of an important document, yet where 
it must seem probable he might have left it.” 

“ I know a dozen such places,” said Laura, 
promptly. “ Ah, Gerald is coming to England this 
week to break to me the news of his intended mar- 
riage, and I shall rejoice in the knowledge that his 
downfall is coming.” She spoke with irrepressible 
triumph, which, he believed, came solely from her 
delight at her power to avenge herself, little dream- 
ing that when the will was in her hands she would 
have both himself and Gerald in her power. 

“ When will you go ?” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


213 


Laura thought rapidly. Gerald might not be in 
London for some days. She wanted everything 
ready by the time he came. To do that she must 
play at rescuing Madge, get her entirely in her 
power, have her at hand for Gerald to see, if he 
doubted her power ; and to do this she must go to 
Dublin again. She had come back with the idea 
that a struggle of wit would be necessary in order 
to get possession of the will. She had not sup- 
posed, for a moment, that it would be actually de- 
posited in her hands. She might have been an 
angel from heaven, and he would not have trusted 
her for a good motive ; but he believed so entirely 
in the bad one alleged by her that he felt no fear. 

“ I will go when you like — to-morrow, if you 
wish it.” 

“ I wish you would. I hardly have any plan at 
present. Of course, Madge has not been allowed 
to remain in Ireland. If Lorrimer rescued her, he 
would know Marsh could claim the care of her at 
any moment as a lunatic, and I have sent instruc- 
tions to a detective to watch his movements. My 
own will be guided by them. My information is 
that he is ill and still on the spot ; but he has no 
doubt placed her out of reach. He has engaged my 
man, Terry, who is as smart as possible in some 
things and has a sort of romantic devotion to 
Madge. But directly I hear of him making a move 
I shall track him from place to place till I find 
Madge. He will hover round her as a moth round 
a candle.” 

Laura applauded his design, which fell in so well 


214 


Yet She Loved Him. 


with her own plans, and then she told him she 
would go to-morrow to Melford, that she would stay 
a day or two, perhaps more, and would not write to 
him, so that no trace of her being in communication 
with him might arise. 

He readily agreed to the precaution, little think- 
ing it was assumed to cover the fact that she would 
be in Ireland instead of at Melford, and therefore 
could not write from Melford, and feared he might 
ask her to do so. 

“ Very well ; that is decided,” he said, putting his 
hand in his bosom and taking from it the stolen 
will. * His hand trembled as he handed it to her, 
and Laura wondered what could have produced 
such a change in the cool-nerved, callous villain. 
She little knew the horrors of guilty terror he en- 
dured — how not an hour had passed for several 
days when he had not been haunted by a fear of 
being alone for the night. He had seen nothing 
since his last visit to that house, but he believed at 
any moment his dead wife might appear before 
him. In vain he had flown to the brandy bottle to 
give him tone,” to drown thought. Nothing suc- 
ceeded in banishing that white face from his mental 
vision. 

He left Laura, glad that he had so easily arranged 
for the finding of the will without being by any 
possibility connected with placing it where it was. 
He had expected Laura would object to putting 
herself in an equivocal position by going to Melford, 
as she probably would have done if he had in- 
tended to go there. 



CHAPTER XXXL 

Although Madge’s days passed peacefully and 
without particular hardships, they were very weary. 
She found herself vainly longing for Lorrimer to 
come, and then she would blush painfully. Could 
it be that she was thinking too much of this man, 
who loved her so well and whose love she believed 
encompassed her ? She, for whom love ought ever 
to be a forbidden blessing, she had sacrificed the 
right to enjoy. 

One day the monotony of her life was broken (she 
had not been more than nine days in the cave, but 
it seemed a year) by Bet telling her the lady who 
was her friend and who had paid to have her cared 
for was coming to see her and that she would take 
her away that evening. 

“ Jennie !” exclaimed Madge, joyfully. And her 
mind became full of pleasant agitation. How slowly 
the hours went ! But at last the evening came. 
Bet returned, for she had long since gone back to 
her work ; but she had managed to get leave to be 
away. There was now less need of her, for some of 
Doctor Marsh’s patients, having good and loving 

[215] 


2I6 


Yet She Loved Him, 


friends, had removed them to another asylum ; for, 
since the fire, many stories had got abroad about 
the cruelty and dirt of his. And so Bet could have 
more liberty. 

This night Madge listened for her eagerly, and 
heard that she had not returned alone. A second 
step, a cautious voice reverberated through the 
vaulted cavern. 

Madge rushed into the outer room, and started 
back at seeing a figure not all like Jennie’s — a lady, 
closely veiled and plainly dressed, yet whose ex- 
quisitely gloved hand revealed that she belonged 
to a different rank from Jennie. 

Laura threw up her thick veil, and Lady Madge 
started back and trembled violently when she recog- 
nized her ex-companion. 

“ Madge, darling Madge !” cried Laura. “ Are 
you not glad to see me ?” 

“ I am glad to see any one^ — I am so lonely,” said 
Madge. But the tears filled her eyes. She mis- 
trusted Laura now, though she knew nothing 
against her except her connivance at her own ill- 
fated marriage. Suspicious circumstances there 
were many, but Lorrimer had felt bound to tell her 
that, after the reading of the will, Laura’s motives 
were not to be suspected. 

“ Madge, you mistrust me. Well you may. I can 
never forgive myself for my wretched weakness in 
listening to your girlish romance, and I have been 
seeking ever since to atone and to frustrate your 
husband’s plans. I found out where you were, and 
when the fire occurred I bribed that woman to 


Yet She Loved Him. 


217 


bring you here, to care for you and keep you con- 
cealed. Have I done nothing to prove my friend- 
ship, my repentance ?” 

If this was true, and it must be, had she not in- 
deed proved her affection ? Madge felt a pang at 
her heart when she learned that Lorrimer, to 
whose love and care she believed herself indebted, 
had nothing to do 'mth her deliverance, but she 
smothered it, and held out her hand to the treacher- 
ous woman who played her part so well. 

“ Yes, Laura, you have indeed earned my grati- 
tude. But for you, I should be still in my husband’s 
power.” 

And over Madge, from whose trusting mind the 
Qoubts of her friend’s good faith vanish as a mist 
from a landscape, came all the old tenderness she 
had had for Laura. She was ready to believe that 
all her apparent inconsistencies were due to lack of 
judgment rather than treachery. Her lonely heart 
yearned for love and sympathy, and when Laura 
folded her in her arms, for the moment all the in- 
tervening wretchedness was forgotten, and only the 
memory of her happy girlhood remained. Such 
blissful oblivion, however, could not be for long. 
One glance at surroundings brought the miserable 
present back to her. And yet with one faithful 
woman-friend, the lonely girl felt the future was 
less drear. 

“ My darling, you will be glad to get away from 
this. Come quickly ! I am so sorry I had to keep 
you here so long, but there was no help for it. 
Doctor Marsh and your husband were on the alert, 


Yet She Loved Him, 


21 & 


and are still, indeed, and I have to take you out of 
this secretly.” 

Madge needed no second bidding ; she was ready 
as she stood, but Laura had a large, gray cloak and 
a soft silk hood with her, and enveloped her in it, 
and then, with a few parting words to Bet, she left 
the cave, as she supposed, to find comfort and safety 
with her old friend, little knowing the treachery 
that beset her. 

“You will have to walk, dear Lady Margaret,” 
said Laura, “ for a short distance. Bet is so tena- 
cious of their secret that she would not hear of my 
bringing the hack nearer than the main road.” 

Madge laughed, so happy was she to be once 
more in the open air, at the idea of having to walk. 

“ I could walk for miles,” she said. “ Oh, to be 
once more free and with you ! Everything seems 
like a hideous dream !” 

“ Well, dear, we will try to think it is so.” 

She got into the waiting carriage and then drove 
toward the city, poor Madge little supposing she 
was so hopefully leaving her best and truest friends 
in Clondalkin, but so it was. 

Lorrimer was just getting up from his illness and 
beginning to gain strength and go out, and he fol- 
lowed the doctor’s orders with painful eagerness, 
so anxious was he to get strong and seek for Madge. 
And the very evening that saw her carried away 
was that of the day on which he, for the first time, 
had been able to take a short walk, and the next he 
intended to go to Doctor Marsh in his own person 
and offer so stupendous a bribe for information that 


Yet She Loved Him. 


219 


a man of that worthy’s principles, who was now 
undoubtedly in difficulty, would be unable to resist. 

For Lorrimer knew whatever St. John may have 
undertaken to do in the future, his actual perform- 
ance must have been limited, for ready money was 
a commodity of which he had always a limited 
supply. It was with some confidence then and no 
scruples whatsoever that Lorrimer, next morning-, 
went to see Doctor Marsh. But, notwithstanding 
that gentleman’s intense desire to accept the mag- 
nificent inducement held out to him, he really had 
nothing to tell, and convinced Lorrimer of that 
^act. 

Bet had let him in the house, and she had applied 
her ear to the keyhole vSo successfully that she 
knew the offer that had been made, and the light 
of greed shone in her fierce, hard eyes as she let 
the visitor out of the house. She knew well where 
he was staying, for a man of that stamp could not 
be long in the village of Clondaning without excit- 
ing remark, and Doctor Marsh, indeed, had had 
him watched as being connected with Madge’s dis- 
appearance. 

When he reached the inn, he said to Terry : 

It is no use staying here, Terry ; Lady Margaret 
cannot be concealed here ; all my preconceived ideas 
are upset, and I must go on a new tack. Pack up, 
and we will start for Dublin. I made sure that 
scoundrelly doctor knew all about her and would 
tell if he was paid enough. I am satisfied he knows 
nothing.” 

Terry was in high spirits at getting once more to 


220 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Dublin and Jennie. He had his own conviction 
that Madge had been taken far away from that 
neighborhood by St. John, and that she was to be 
sought in England rather than Ireland. 

While the preparations for departure were being 
made, Lorrimer was told that a woman wished to 
speak to him. His thoughts at once flew to her who 
was never long absent from them, and he ordered 
her to be shown in. Needless to tell the reader, it 
was Bet come to increase her harvest. 

“You’re the gent as come to Doctor Marsh this 
morning about a patient?” 

“ I am. Can you tell me anything about that 
patient?” said Lorrimer, eagerly. 

“ Maybe I can. What ’ll you give me ?” 

“ Anything ! Anything within reason.” 

Bet’s eyes sparkled with cupidity. 

“ How much is anything?” she asked. 

“ I will give you twenty pounds if you can set me 
on the track of finding her — a hundred if you can 
tell me where she actually is !” 

Bet groaned in spirit. How she wished she had 
sent Patrick after Laura, never to leave her till he 
had seen her destination ! But how could she ex- 
pect such a shower of gold would rain down on her 
as this? 

“ Give us the twenty,” she said. “ I ’ll tell you 
all I know.” 

Lorrimer counted out ten, and then said : 

“The other ten are yours when I hear your 
story.” 

Bet then related what she chose of Madge’s his- 


Yet She Loved Him. 


22 1 


tory since the fire, not betraying- the cavern, how- 
ever, but alleging her to have been concealed in a 
country house some miles from there, and that a 
lady had been the instrument of her departure. 

. “ Describe that lady,” said feorrimer briefly. 

And Bet gave a description that seemed to fit no 
one of whom he could think, for Bet’s powers in 
this way were limited, and she saw Laura with dif- 
ferent eyes from a cultivated observer. He had but 
to conclude then that the lady was some one hired 
by St. John. 

“Where did they go?” he asked. 

“ To Dublin ; but I heard the lady say they were 
to go to London at once.” 

“ They went in a hack, you say ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ There are the other ten pounds. Here is my 
London address. You can double the money at any 
time by sending me any information you may get.” 

Bet took up the money without a word, cursing 
her bad luck in not getting the larger sum, although 
Laura’s liberality had put her in possession of more 
money than she had ever had in her life, and these 
twenty pounds would have seemed enormous wealth 
if she had not heard of the hundred she might have 
had. 

Lorrimer and Terry started at once for Dublin, 
and his first care was to inquire at all the hack- 
stands for one which had taken one lady from Dub- 
lin to Clondalkin and brought two back. He was 
not long in discovering the man, and learned that 
after taking the ladies to the Shelbourne Hotel he 


222 


Yet She Loved Him. 


had then driven them to the station to take the 
train for London. 

Lorrimer knew now his business in Ireland was 
over and that to find Lady Margaret he must go to 
London. He bade Terry go to Jennie and ask her 
what she wished to do — to remain and seek service 
in that city or return to Melford. 




CHAPTER XXXIL 

As the hack-driver had told Lorrimer, he had 
taken the ladies to the hotel where Lady Madge 
had dressed herself in Laura’s clothes and then they 
had started for England. When they reached 
London,- Madge, closely vailed, was taken by Laura 
to St. John’s Wood, and it was with a feeling of 
utter thankfulness that the unhappy girl once more 
found herself in a house where she was free and 
at home. It was the first glimpse of physical com- 
fort she had known since she left home, and it was 
grateful to her ; it seemed like returning to her old 
life once more. 

“ You will vStay here, my sweet, quite safe, so long 
as you are guided by me. I shall watch over you, 
warn you of any danger and take you out of it if 
necessary.” 

But what am I to do to live, dear Laura ? I 
cannot depend on you.” 

‘‘ Nor shall you. Your father’s will left you 
provided with enough to live on.” 

Yes ; but I never dare claim it. It would reveal 
my whereabouts to Lawrence.” 

[223] 

/ 


224 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ I don’t think you could safely do it in this coun- 
try, but there are other lands to which you and I 
could go, and where you would be protected from 
him.” 

“ I don’t care where I go provided I can be free 
from him. One place is as good as another, if only 
I need not fear his compelling me to live with him. 
I should die ! I would kill myself rather !” 

“ You shall not. Trust yourself to me, my poor 
little woman !” 

Thus did the crafty Laura prepare the way for 
the plan she meant to carry out, directly she had 
made her presence serve her purpose with Gerald. 

Laura congratulated herself on her own subtlety. 

Lady Madge, in her fear of the husband who had 
no real claim to the power of one, would blindly 
follow her directions and play into her hands by 
carefully keeping out of his reach, and the reach 
of any one who could set her right. Once safe in 
America, Gerald — by that time her own husband — 
would pay her the income left in the first will, and 
St. John would be prevented from interfering by 
the power she would have in her hands once she 
obtained the certificate of his first marriage from 
Mrs. Mortimer, for his arrest for bigamy would 
follow any effort on his part to frustrate her plans. 

Now she had but to await Gerald’s coming. 

She was anxious to prevent any chance of St. 
John coming to the house while Madge was there, 
and she therefore wrote him a note, telling him 
she had returned from Melford and appointing a 
meeting in town. 


Yet She Loved Him, 


225 


She kept the appointment, assured him the will 
was placed in an old portfolio the late earl fre- 
quently used, but which had not been searched in 
consequence of its being so improbable a receptacle 
for such an important paper. 

Perhaps St. John’s mental state was less vigorous 
than formerly. Whatever the reason, he accepted 
Laura’s version, which she had herself looked on as 
open to much quCvStion, and was prepared to as- 
severate in the most solemn manner to reassure 
him with very little question at all, and seemed in- 
finitely relieved that the thing was done. 

“ Have you heard anything of Lady Margaret?” 
she asked. 

“ No, not a thing. The truth is, till this business 
was finished I was in no hurry. Now I will set a 
detective to work to watch Lorrimer — he knows her 
whereabouts, I feel sure — and she will be in my 
hands before long.” 

Laura smiled encouragingly. 

“ All will soon be arranged, no doubt, for Gerald 
IS coming, and then, as soon as you have found 
Madge, let me know by letter. Do not come, for 
your own safety’s sake.” 

St. John would promise anything for his own 
sake, and such promises he was likely to keep. 

Laura had not long to wait for Gerald. That very 
evening, when she reached home, on opening her 
evening paper, she saw notice of Lord Ferrars’s ar- 
rival at Claridge’s Hotel and, a little lower, notice of 
Mrs. and Miss Jerningham’s arrival in town. 

She bit her lip till the blood came, then laughed 


226 


Yet She Loved Him. 


at herself for her vexation at seeing these two names 
in juxtaposition. 

“ What a fool I am, when my time is coming, 
and I can triumph over them all.” 

The next day brought a message from Gerald, 
asking her when she could see him. 

She replied that she would remain home all that 

day, and to come when he pleased. 

****** 

Gerald, Lord Ferrars, was one of the most miser- 
able men in London on the day when he had to 
break the truth to Laura Perceval. That he was 
behaving badly, he could not deny, but, strange to 
say, the knowledge of what he owed to her only 
made him care the less for her ; it seemed impos- 
sible that he could marry a woman so very astute. 
And then — and that may have had much to do with 
his scruples — he really and truly loved Clara Jerning- 
ham — loved, for the first time in his life, a woman 
better than himself, a good, pure, innocent girl. 
How he was coming out of the interview with 
Laura he could not tell ; like a whipped dog, he 
thought, most likely ; but at any rate, every day 
made his conduct worse, and he had screwed his 
courage up to the point, and he would go. 

He gave himself no time for reflection when he 
got Laura’s message, but went at once to her. He 
had drawn up a document offering to allow her a 
thousand pounds a year as compensation for his 
broken faith. This he had in his pocket, and tried 
to believe that she ought even to be grateful to him 
for it. 


Yet She Loved Hwt. 


227 


But this was a useless attempt at self-deception, 
as he knew when his cab drew up at Laura’s door, 
and the next moment, with a glad face and her eyes 
just tenderly suffused with tears, she rushed for- 
ward to meet him. 

“ Oh, Gerald, dear, dear Gerald, how good it is 
to see you after all these long weeks, and such short 
letters ! But now you are here, you are not going 
again !” she said, as she dragged him into the room. 

“ Well, dear Laura, I ’m afraid I must,” he said, 
with a face he meant to be a mixture of tenderness 
and regret, as a preparation for the news she must 
hear. 

“ No, dearest, you are never going to be so cruel 
to me. If you go again from London, you will, at 
least, take me with you. Let us get married at a 
register office, and quite privately, and then we can 
make it known when we like, only, my dear love, I 
cannot, cannot live without you !” She laid her 
clasped hands on his shoulder and looked into his 
face, her own warm and beaming with the glow of 
passionate love ; and his was uneasy, his eyes re- 
fusing to meet hers, his pale face and his lips 
twitching nervously. Gerald Ferrars would rather 
at that moment have been in the thick of a battle 
than with Laura in safety there. 

“ Laura,” he said in agitated tones, “ I wrote you 
I had something I must tell you.” 

“ Yes, yes, I know you did ; but surely nothing 
that you need speak of in this delightful moment 
of our reunion,” she said, desperately fighting off 
the evil hour. 


228 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Yes, Laura, I have been weak and cowardly 
hitherto. When you have heard what I have to 
say, you will be sorry, perhaps, that you have re- 
ceived me so warmly. You will hate me ; but I 
must tell you the whole truth.” 

“ Well, what is it ?” she said, drawing back from 
him, with white lips that worked tremulously. 
Well she knew this was her last good hour ; that 
after this she must show herself to this man as she 
was, a fearful woman, with a desperately wicked 
heart, and she clung to this last moment of her bet- 
ter nature before casting off the mask. 

“ Laura, I am a villain ; but I have this excUvSe, 
and I will plead my excuse before I tell you of my 
fault, for after that is confessed you may not let me 
speak to you. When we first loved each other, 
marriage, as you confessed, was an impossibility.” 

“ Yes, it was, but by my means it has become quite 
possible and natural,” she said coldly. 

“Yes, but, Laura, before that happened I had en- 
gaged myself — ” 

“ To a girl as poor as I,” she interrupted quickly, 
turning round on him like a flash. “ I have heard 
something of this. You cannot mean — oh, impos- 
ble ! — you cannot mean that you have come to me to 
make that a pretext for breaking your troth to me ! 
You cannot be such a villain as that !” He was silent 
for a moment, and she gave him no time to frame 
an answer. “ Something of this I heard, and 
laughed at it. Why, that girl was as impossible as 
I was myself. Do you mean to come here and tell 
me that you are going to take advantage of the for- 


Yet She Loved Him, 


229 


tune / threw into your hands to marry her ? Even 
man’s treachery and cruelty can hardly g-o so far as 
that !” Her tone was so full of scorn that Ferrars 
cowered and shrank from her. He covered his face 
with his hand, self-convicted. His own conduct 
seemed ten times more monstrous put in her words 
than it had done in his own, and yet her words 
were true. “ Can you not answer and tell me that 
this base thing is not true?” she said, and she hoped 
he would be so shocked by the picture of his own 
villainy that she had shown that even now he would 
relent and spare her her self-abasement. Ah, what 
a good woman she would be in future ! How she 
would atone to Lady Margaret for what she had 
suffered, and free her from the lie that bound her ! 
She passionately, at this moment, longed to be 
good ; she looked eagerly, imploringly at Ferrars, 
her dark eyes glowing in her pale face. 

But Gerald thought of Clara and his promised 
happiness. Had he not loved her he might have 
yielded, but she gave him strength. 

“ Laura, say what you will, I deserve it all, but I 
will atone to you so far as money can. Your life 
shall be my care, but I must marry Miss Jerning- 
ham. I cannot break my word to her.” 

“ And is it more sacred than it was to me ?” she 
asked, in cold fury. “ Do you think she begins to 
love you as I do ? And you will atone with money ! 
Who gave you the money with which to do it — 
with which to marry this chit of a girl? Well, hear 
one thing : You zvill never marry her ! She who 
has built can throw down, and I who made your 


230 


Yet She Loved Him. 


fortune can take it away again, and I will.” He 
looked at her, puzzled — he could only ask himself if 
disappointment had turned her brain. “ When I 
heard you were playing me false, I prepared to pro- 
tect myself. I knew that other will must be in ex- 
istence. I sought it, and I have it in my posses- 
sion. It gives you a pittance, and the rest goes to 
Lady Margaret and her children, failing them, to 
charity.” 

Lord Ferrars looked at her, his face as pale as 
ashes. 

“ For pity’s sake, Laura, tell me you lie — you are 
trying me !” 

“ Ah ! That touches you, does it ?” she said, con- 
temptuously. “ No, it is quite true ; I am not play- 
ing a farce.” 

“ Then I am ruined !” he groaned. ‘‘ Oh, Clara ! 
Clara !” 

“ No, not necessarily ruined. You can purchase 
prosperity by marrying me.” 

He started, as if an adder had stung him. And 
yet ruin ! No, he could not face it. He well knew 
that if what she said was true, he could not marry 
Clara. Her parents would never let her marry a 
penniless man, peer though he were. 

How would my marrying you, Laura, alter 
matters?” he asked. 

“ This way,” she said, in cool tones, that revealed 
nothing of her wildly beating pulses. “ Lady 
Margaret is married to a villain, and she hates 
and dreads him. She asks nothing better than to 
go abroad secretly, hide her name forever and re- 


Yet She Loved Him. 


231 


ceive the income her father’s will allows her. If 
this new will were proclaimed, she would, to take 
possession of her fortune, be obliged to reveal her- 
self to her husband, whom she has successfully 
eluded so far and whom she wishes to think her 
dead. Now marry me, and nothing will ever be 
heard of this will. I will destroy it before you.” 

“ But, Laura,” he cried, “ this is atrocious !” 

“ Not a whit more atrocious than your own con- 
duct to me ; but if you have scruples of conscience, 
reconcile them by making a will leaving all your 
property to Margaret’s children,” she said, well 
knowing, once married, she would have as many 
wills made as she chose. “Margaret now would 
not accept the money if you resign it. She only 
asks obscurity and comparative poverty. Riches 
will but make her husband more earnest in his pur- 
suit of her, and I suppose you have no weakness in 
favor of enriching him f' 

“ No ; but Laura,” he said, “ remember even that 
this man is her husband, and the cause of her 
troubles has akso been your doing.” 

“ And that sounds well from you ! That fills the 
measure of your ingratitude ! Great heaven ! What 
a mean shadow of a man have I wasted my heart 
upon !” she cried. “ Ah, if the past could be un- 
done ! But it cannot !” she added, with another 
change of manner. “ It cannot ! And as I have 
sinned, I will reap the benefit. I shall almost be 
glad to know you are so poor a thing !” she said 
with biting scorn. “ I shall not be obliged to look 
down on myself in comparison with you. Now you 


232 


Yet She Loved Hint. 


know my terms. Keep your word to me, or see 
yourself stripped of everything- you now enjoy. 
In either case, if what I hear of the Jerningham 
parents is true, you will lose your present love.” 

Gerald raised his head — hitherto bowed beneath 
her scorn — some dignity was in his manner as he 
said : 

“ This is not a matter, Laura, in which my love 
can be discussed. It is a mere bargain, and I have 
to consider whether I can accept it or not. Give me 
a few days to decide.” 

It was Laura’s turn to writhe at the word “ bar- 
gain.” All the woman that was left in her nature 
revolted at such a term, however true, from the 
man she loved so well while despising him so 
thoroughly, but she hid her wound. 

“ It is fair you should take time to consider the 
pros and cons,” she said, coolly. “ When do you 
suppose you will have decided?” 

“ In a very few days,” he said. “ I dare say you 
will conquer, for I have no taste for poverty, and, 
as you say, either way my marriage will be broken 
off ; but I must have time to be alone and decide.” 

He took up his hat and, with a bow that cut Laura 
to the heart, he left. 

After he had gone, she sank cowering in her 
chair. Of her ultimate triumph she had no doubt, 
but at what a price had it been purchased ! Yet the 
“ wine was drawn,” she must drink it. She believed 
she knew his weak, selfish nature well enough to 
feel sure that he would never resolve to give up 
his race and wealth for the sake of — what? Not 


Yet She Loved Him. 


233 


even his bride, for he would lose her. Nothing but 
a question of form ; for, as she had put it, he could 
not even think that he would wrdngLady Margaret. 

She started up. Now she must induce Madge to 
fall into her plan, and that she knew would be so 
easy. Gerald had not asked to see her, to be as- 
sured of her presence, as she expected he might 
have done. 




CHAPTER XXXIIL 

While Lorrimer had been in pursuit of Lady 
Margaret he had not forgotten the hint Terry had 
given him as to the possibility of St. John having 
been previously married. He did not hope too 
much, for he knew the tendency there is to make 
such statements among women of a certain order ; 
but on the mere chance it was worth inquiring into, 
and he had written from Dublin to employ a skill- 
ful detective who had been highly recommended 
to him on account of his sagacity. And when he 
reached London his first step was to send for this 
man. He had resolved, if satisfied with him, to em- 
ploy him to trace Madge. He had lost faith in his 
own unaided efforts, and he had hitherto shrunk 
from employing detective aid in finding the woman 
he loved. 

Mr. Martin made his appearance in answer to his 
summons. A guileless-looking little man he was, 
and one little likely to inspire respect for his acute- 
ness. 

'' Have you any information for me, Mr. Martin ?” 
asked Lorrimer. 

‘‘Yes, I have,” replied the detective. “I will 
[234] 


Vet She Loved Him. 


235 


give you the facts so far as I have ascertained them. 

I find that Captain St. John, of the th regiment 

of foot, was thought by many to be married while 
in Canada, and a lady was there who, although she 
bore another name, frequently had declared in con- 
fidence she was his wife. I then traced this lady 
back to a village near Oxford, where I find she had 
been living with her mother at the time of her 
marriage, if any took place. I went to that village 
and learned that the mother was dead, that one 
daughter had. married and gone abroad, the other 
had eloped with a Lieutenant St. John. I find the 
description of the lady agrees exactly with that of 
the one who was known as Mrs. Varley in Canada. 
I have endeavored to find a marriage entry by hav- 
ing the books of many London churches examined, 
but without other clue, it will be a very long and 
hopeless task. The only hope is of finding the 
lady, or some news of her death." 

“ Yes, but," said Lorrimer, somewhat impatiently, 
“ we are searching unsuccessfully after one lady al- 
ready, and we may have no better fortune with the 
other." 

“ That is true, yet I venture to think we may have 
a better chance with the first Mrs. St. John, for I 
have positive information that she went to New 
York, and that she did not land in England with 
her presumed husband ; also that he has sent money 
to a Mrs. Varley, in New York, but not for the last 
few months. Now here we have a good clue to go 
upon. We can advertise for the lady who called at 
Captain St. John’s chambers or we may send to 


236 


Yet She Loved Him. 


America and try to find out as much as possible 
about her there.” 

“ No> we must not advertise. To do that is to 
put St. John on his guard, and may result in the 
frustration of our plans.” 

“ Yes, that is my idea, too. My theory is that the 
lady came to see after her husband and has been 
cajoled or bribed into returning to America, as she 
has evidently not been interfering with his move- 
ments recently.” 

“ But,” said Lorrimer, “ do you think a man of St. 
John’s stamp is likely to have married unless for 
money ?” 

“Yes, from what I learn, he was, eight years ago, 
different from the calculating villain he is now, and 
many a selfish youth does a disinterested thing to 
gratify himself, which he tries in vain to undo 
later.” 

“ What do you propose, then ?” 

“ That the search be conducted in America rather 
than here, or rather, both here and there, for this 
reason : While in Canada, Captain St. John had his 
wife under his control. He could prevent her talk- 
ing, if he wished, by secluding her, as I find he did. 
It was, no doubt, while there that he first began to 
feel the tie irksome, but since she has been left in 
New York she has been free to form acquaintances, 
which she has doubtless done, and even if she is not 
there, possibly all the information we need may be 
obtained there.” 

“That seems feasible,” said Lorrimer, thought- 
fully. “ Could you go over yourself ?” 


Yet She Loved Him, 


237 


“ I regret to say I cannot leave London. You see 
I am not one of a company of detectives. I am on 
my own hook, as it were, and I should lose a good 
deal here ; and, as I have no correspondence with 
detectives on the other side of the water, and have 
never been there, I should be at a great disadvan- 
tage. If I might offer a suggestion, it would be 
that you, sir, are the fittest person to go. You are 
an American, and another thing I can tell you 
is that you yourself are being watched by Captain 
St. John. Your arrival from Ireland has been 
looked for, and your movements are all under 
espionage ; that is why I carry this book of tailors’ 
patterns,” he said, pointing to the morocco case he 
held. “ I am unknown to the general run of detec- 
tives, and shall, I expect, be taken for a tailor come 
to measure you.” 

Lorrimer was revolving the astounding idea pre- 
sented to him — that he should go to America and 
leave Madge still unfound. It did not seem possible 
he could do that ; he must be absent a month. What 
might not happen in that time ? 

He told Mr. Martin the reason he could not think 
of going. 

“ You will pardon me, but that is one reason why 
I think you should go. Your departure, but not its 
cause, will be known to Captain St. John, who will 
suppose you have given up the pursuit, and, per- 
haps, think you believe the lady to have perished 
in the fire. At all events, he will be less cautious, 
and I will find the lady if she is living. I will not 
leave a move he makes unwatched !” 


238 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ I must think of this, Mr. Martin, but whether I 
go or do not, I wish to secure your aid in tracing 
Lady Margaret St. John.” 

Mr. Martin bowed ; he probably thought it would 
have been better had that step been taken at first ; 
but he said nothing, and proceeded to note down 
all that he did not know about the case, and then 
he took his leave. 

Lorrimer sat down to think. What should he 
do? Reason told him that Margaret would suffer 
nothing by his absence, that Martin would do for 
her discovery all he could do if he were on the spot, 
and more, perhaps, than if he was. He was known 
to be her champion, and when he seemed to give 
up her cause, no doubt St. John would be less cau- 
tious, believing her friendless, might even get reck- 
less ! But if she should be found, and he away — 
where would she go ? The idea that his going to 
New York might result in him finding Lady Mar- 
garet virtually a free woman was so tempting that 
it took away much from his reluctance to leave Eng- 
land. He might go and be back in London within 
a month ! But it seemed like deserting Madge to 
go from the country, even for a time, where she 
might be suffering and so sorely need his aid. Just 
as his thoughts reached this point Terry entered, 
looking much embarrassed and shame-faced. 

“ Mr. Lorrymore, sir, I Ve come to tell you av a 
change I ’m thinking of making !” 

“ You surely are not going to leave me, Terry !” 
cried Lorrimer. 

No, sir, indeed I ’m not ; but Jennie and me 


Yet She Loved Him. 239 


have talked it over, an’ seeing she ’s no home in 
London and wants to stay till Lady Margaret is 
heard of, we ’ve agreed to get married.” 

“ Bravo, Terry ! I thought I 'd seen something of 
the sort between you and Jennie. Well, what do 
you want me to do ? Give away the bride ?” 

“ Oh, no, sir,” said Terry, blushing fiery red with 
pleasure. “ We would not be asking the like av 
that ; but if you could spare me for a few hours till 
we find a little place to live in, and if you ’d not 
mind my leaving you every evening and return in 
the morning ; as you ’re not a gentleman that needs 
valeting in the evening or when you dress, like 
some, I have nothing to do, anyhow.” 

“ Of course, Terry, it makes no difference to me ; 
but I think I know a way in which your marriage 
will be the very thing for my plans. Wait a few 
hours before you look for your little place. Wish 
Jennie joy for me. And this is to buy her wedding- 
dress.” So saying, Lorrimer put a ten-pound note 
into Terry’s hand, telling him he would not want 
him again till evening. 

He then went out and, jumping into a cab, had 
himself driven to a suburban real-estate agent and 
there asked for a list of furnished cottages ; and 
when he returned to his chambers, some hours 
later, he called for Terry, who had returned from a 
shopping expedition with his future wife. 

“ Terry, I am going to America.” 

Terry’s face was a picture to see. But Lorrimer 
hastened to reassure him. 

“ I shall be absent only one month, and before I 


240 


Yet She Loved Him, 


return, Lady Margaret may be found and need a 
home. I have taken a little house at Brompton, 
into which you and Jennie can go, and keep it for 
me till my return, when, if it is not needed for Lady 
Margaret's use, I shall keep house myself, with 
Jennie to manage for me.” 

Such an ideal existence as Jennie and himself in 
Mr. Lorrimer’s service was such a glorious prospect 
for Terry that he almost lost sight, in the contem- 
plation of it, that his master was going away, and 
even when he did, he was but human ; and attached 
as the faithful fellow was to Lorrimer, the prospect 
of a month’s uninterrupted bliss with Jennie went 
far to comfort him. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

“ My darling !” said Laura, the morning after she 
had seen Gerald, turning from the window with an 
appearance of agitation. Oh, my poor child T’ 

“ What is it ?” asked Madge, who in a few hours’ 
peace and comparative comfort had regained much 
of her old appearance and vigor. No bad news, I 
hope, and the large eyes grew wild with fear. 

‘‘ I trust not. I hope I am mistaken, but I am 
almost sure that I saw your husband looking up at 
this house, and I fancied the same thing last night, 
but fought the idea down.” 

“ Ah, Laura,” cried Madge, all her peace gone, 
“ I must go from here, then ! I dare not stay. How 
can he have found me here 

“ I can’t think. My poor love, it only shows that 
in this country you will never be safe from him.” 

“Then I must go to another!” she cried. “Oh, 
what is one country more than another to me, if 
only I need not live as that man’s wife ?” 

[241] 


242 


Yet She Loved Him, 


“ Madge, my dear, have you courage to take a 
great step to free yourself ?” 

“ For that I have courage to do anything 

“ Then do one thing and you are free — go to 
America. It is a lovely country, and in a few short 
weeks I will join you ; but I must remain here to 
arrange your business matters for you. After you 
are once Safely away, I can safely claim your in- 
come for you and see that you get it. Meanwhile, 
if you agree to this step, I will take your passage 
at once, go to Liverpool with you and supply you 
with necessary funds till you get your own money. 
What do you say ?” 

“ Oh, Laura, anything, anywhere, I care not, only 
that I may never see that hated face again ! Do 
just as you like ; you are so good to take me and 
my troubles to your heart so !” 

“Good, my sweet? I am not good. Now, you 
think you will not falter at the last ?” 

“ No, no ! I shall feel safe when I am once on a 
steamer. Oh, surely I shall be safe with the At- 
lantic between us !” 

“ I think you will.” 

“ I am so glad you have thought of this, Laura. 
It seems to me at least now I may look forward to 
peace. I thought of the continent, but France or 
Germany would be but a few hours’ journey to him 
and no protection. But, Laura, you say you will 
come ?” 

“I will very soon, as soon as I can settle matters.” 

Laura allowed no time to be lost. Taking a cab, 
she went at once to the steamer office at Regent’s 


Yet She Loved Him. 


H3 


Circus, and found the Gallia sailed the next day, 
but by travelling to Liverpool that night, they 
would catch it. Then buying a few things Madge 
would require for the voyage, she returned home 
as fast as possible. 

The same evening, with her face muffled in a 
veil, her figure hidden in the ample folds of a 
travelling -cloak, Madge started with Laura for 
Liverpool. The vessel sailed early in the morn- 
ing, and the midnight train, the only one they had 
been able to get ready for, would be barely in time. 
And Laura, now her plans were so near fruition, 
grew nervously afraid some detention might occur, 
and this steamer missed. But fortune seemed to 
favor her in all things ; for the train was exactly 
on time, and there was just time to get in a carriage 
and drive to the tender Satellite, which was taking 
the passengers on board. There was no time for 
anything but a hurried leave-taking. Laura might 
have gone in the tender, but Madge did not know 
it, and Laura was too eager to drop her part of 
sympathizing and sorrowing friend to avail herself 
of the privilege. She was thankful to see the last 
of the pale, pathetic face, whose pathos was due 
entirely to her own wickedness. 

* * * -x * * 

Madge was safely on her voyage ; for Laura had 
not left Liverpool in spite of her haste, till she had 
seen the tender return and discharge its freight of 
sorrowing friends, but among those people Lady 
Madge was not. Then the Gallia was seen to leave 


244 


Yet She Loved Him. 


the Mersey, and Laura returned to town bent on 
triumph. 

One more thing she had now to do — she must get 
possession of the certificate of marriage from Mrs. 
Mortimer. But she was worn out with excitement 
and fatigue of her night journey, and before doing 
a thing more, she felt she must have a few hours’ 
rest. She would go to bed right there, and sleep 
till morning, if she could — the first mistake clever 
Laura had yet made. For, while she slept, a slight 
derangement of her plan was occurring downstairs. 

When Mr. Martin had suggested Mr. Lorrimer’s 
going to New York, he had by no means relin- 
quished hope of finding news in London ; he had 
been seeking an old valet of St. John’s, one of 
the army of tmpaid who had had the privilege of 
waiting on him. The particular one sought by 
Mr. Martin was he who must have been with him 
at the date of his marriage, if it took place ; this 
man he had now found, and at last had a definite 
clue. He was told Mr. St. John had visited a lady 
as Mr. Varley in Pimlico for a few months before 
going to Canada. He had often seen the lady who 
was called Mrs. Varley, but he had never thought 
she was his wife. He described her, and the de- 
scription was that of the lady the detective wanted. 
He went at once to the address in Pimlico, and 
there learned far more than he expected — how the 
unhappy Mrs. Varley had been back there, and had 
died. From the landlady Mr. Martin obtained the 
address the dying woman had given her, to which 
she wished her trunks to be sent when she should 


Yet She Loved Him, 


245 


die ; and to Mrs. Mortimer, at Henley, the indefati- 
gable little man went, and from there was sent to 
St. John’s Wood, and at the very time when Laura 
yielded to nature’s needs and decided to rest, he 
was closeted below with Mrs. Mortimer. 

“ Will you let me take this certificate, madam, if 
I give you a written acknowledgment that I have it 
in my possession ? I use it only to reinstate you 
sister’s memory and to free Lady Margaret Doyle.” 

Certainly take it,” said Mrs. Mortimer, who did 
not realize the risk she might have been running 
had Mr. Martin not been what he pretended to be. 
She was a woman of simple faith and unsuspicious ; 
happily, in this case, she was in no danger. 

Something of this Mr. Martin conveyed to her 
when he said : 

“ Madam, I take it, and you are safe in giving it 
to me, as my interest is with yours. Had I been an 
agent of Mr. St. John, in disguise, you would, in 
giving me this paper, lose all your power.” 

Mrs. Mortimer looked terrified at the mistake she 
might have made. 

Then Mr. Martin handed her his acknowledg- 
ment of having received a paper certifying the 
marriage of Captain St. John to Cicely Warren, at 
St. Judes Church, Islington. 

“ That, I think, will make you safe. In case of 
accidents, you have the church and its register to 
fly to.” 

Before Laura had quite fallen into the land of 
dreams Mr. Martin had left, with the coveted certi- 
ficate in his pocket. 


246 


Yet She Loved Him. 


Mrs. Mortimer had somehow an uneasy sense that 
she would be blamed by Laura, who had promised 
to do everything in the matter, when she should 
find that she had accepted the aid of some one else ; 
and she tried to avoid meeting her for a while, to 
put off the evil hour. She left home, therefore, for 
the day, leaving a note for Miss Perceval, express- 
ing regret that, having to catch an early train,' she 
could not see her before starting. 

When Laura read the note brought up with her 
breakfast, she felt a momentary vexation. It was a 
check. 

Pshaw ! What matter ? It is only a delay. She 
will be back in a day or so, and I can get it then. 
She has no one to whom she would confide the mat- 
ter but me. I have no cause to be uneasy.” 




CHAPTER XXXV. 

For three days Lady Margaret paid the usual 
tribute to the sea and remained helplessly seasick 
below. The third day she was better and able to 
go on deck. 

For her, sad as the cause of her expatriation, it 
was not the grief it would have been to many a girl 
of her age. She had no ties of love to leave. Her 
father was dead, and Laura, to whom she now clung 
with tender love, was coming to her, and she was 
escaping from her hated husband. And as she 
paced the broad deck and looked over the free and 
boundless ocean, her heart rose. She felt that she 
was going to a fuller life and to lose that terrible 
sense of fear that had lately haunted her. No man 
in this land to which she was going would have a 
right to put his hand on her as his wife. One secret 
pang she felt when she thought of Lorrimer — that 
tender, manly heart that had loved her so well, 
whose worth she knew, but of whose love she 
scarcely dared think. When the sea, the safeguard 

[247] 


248 


Yet She Loved Him. 


of distance, was between them, she would write to 
him and thank him more warmly than she had ever 
yet dared do, for his goodness. It was not quite 
like going to a strange country, since it was the land 
that gave her such a friend. She would have given 
much to have seen him before she left, she thought ; 
and yet when she remembered the repressed fire 
ever ready to burst forth, she knew it was better 
there had been no formal parting. And then a 
sudden thought, like a sunbeam, crossed her mind, 
seeming to flood the future with glory, yet dyeing 
her cheeks with a ruddy glow, suffusing her eyes 
with tender light — the thought that, had there been 
such parting, it would not have been for long ; that 
he would soon have been in New York. 

She was terror-stricken at the joy she discovered 
in herself at such a possibility. Could it be that 
she cared so much for this friend ! Ah, then, that 
letter must never be written, for would it not bring 
him to her vicinity ! Knowing her own heart now, 
dare wshe do it ? Some instinct warned her of her 
own weakness, and she knew now there was another 
danger left behind. It was not all pain as yet, it 
was so sweet to dwell upon, to know she was so well 
loved by such a man ! 

Many were the remarks among the passengers on 
the peculiarity of such a young and beautiful girl, 
evidently so highly bred, travelling alone, apparently 
knowing no one, and they referred to their passen- 
ger lists and wondered who Miss M. Perceval 
could be. 

It had been agreed between Madge and Laura 


Vel She Loved Him. 


249 


that either her own name or that of her husband 
might lead to his finding out that she had gone to 
America, and, therefore, she had adopted Laura’s 
name. 

This “ Miss Perceval ” made no acquaintance, 
permitted no deck companions, yet she seemed far 
from haughty, and certainly not shy. But she 
paced the deck alone, frequently staying up quite 
late, avoiding only the saloon. 

One night, so pacing, she leant over the vessel’s 
side ; they were eight days out and nearing the 
American shores. For the first time she began to 
realize her own loneliness, and the tears filled her 
eyes and dropped into the salt water. How long 
she stood thus she did not know, she was aroused 
to a sense of passing time by a voice in passing : 

“ I think I shall go below, it is getting late !” 

Why did her heart bound at those words ? Whose 
voice was it ? The speaker had passed on. She 
turned in time to see a tall form pass into the com- 
panion-way. That was all — that voice was Lorri- 
mer’s surely, that form looked like his, but how 
could it be ! Could such chances happen ? She 
saw nearly all the ladies had gone below, and she 
went herself. How she longed, yet dreaded to 
know whether she could have been misled by an 
accidental resemblance in tone ! She regretted 
that she had so persistently avoided the saloon, and 
that she had never once looked at her passenger-list, 
had not even taken the trouble to preserve it. 

The next morning she asked the stewardess to 
procure her a passenger-list ; and when it was 


Yet She Loved Him. 


250 


brought she cast her eye down it till she came to 
the letter L. Yes, there was the name, “ J. Lor- 
rimer.” 

It was with a strangely mingled feeling she read 
the assurance that this friend was so near — half 
doubt, half pleasure — but the latter soon gave way 
to fear. For if he should see her, he would surely 
never leave her to herself in the strange city to which 
she was going, and now she knew her own heart, 
she was afraid. In London, in Dublin, secure in 
her own indifference, she had accepted his care 
gratefully, but now it was so different. 

Although she had never yet in all the days they 
had been on board chanced to meet him on deck, 
now that she knew he was there, she felt it impos- 
sible he should not see her if she went up. She re- 
mained all day in the ladies’ cabin, till she felt sick 
for want of air, and then in the dark, before the 
moon rose, she crept up on deck. The sea was 
rougher than it had been ; ropes were stretched 
along the deck, and it was difficult to keep a footing 
without them. 

Many ladies were tumbling about and being 
saved by ready masculine arms, and laughing hi- 
lariously. And Madge, fearing she might fall, took 
a seat till her feet got numb with cold. She had 
gained confidence now, she had been up an hour 
and seen nothing of Lorrimer. She knew he must 
keep with the officers up on the bridge, and rarely 
be on deck. So, to warm her chilled blood she rose 
and started to walk. The vessel was more steady, 
and she was able to keep her feet. Just as she 


Yet She Loved Hhn. 


251 


reached the captain’s room and was about to turn 
back again, however, the vessel gave a lurch, she 
slipped on the wet deck and fell. A gentleman 
came out of the room and sprang to her aid. The 
light from the lamp fell on her face as she stam- 
mered her thanks, but the gentleman uttered a cry. 

“What! Am I dreaming? Lady Margaret! 
Madge ! My darling, my own ! Have I found you, 
and here?” 

It was John Lorrimer, and Madge stood white and 
trembling, yet unspeakably happy before him. 

“ Mr. Lorrimer !” she said, as quietly as if her 
heart was not beating so that she feared he would 
hear it. 

“What a strange chance this is!” she added, 
tremulously. But to his eager heart, shocked out 
of its studied reserve, her words seemed cold and 
apathetic. 

“ A chance ! No, it is not a chance, it is a Provi- 
dence ! Oh, how I have sought you ! And you, 
who are light and life itself to me, receive me so 
coldly, as if I was a mere chance acquaintance,” he 
said, reproachfully. 

Was it so ? Did she so well conceal her feelings ? 
Well, it was better so. She must keep up that idea 
in his mind. 

“A chance acquaintance? No,” she said. “A 
dear friend, rather ; but you forget my surprise at 
being lifted from the deck and finding myself 
thanking you instead of a stranger.” 

Her words were almost flippant in their careless- 
ness, and Lorrimer was chilled by them into self- 


252 


Yet She Loved Him. 


control. He took her arm under his and walked 
with her, she telling him all that had happened to 
her since her husband had come to her in Dublin ; 
and in spite of his determined self-repression, she 
felt sometimes a convulsive pressure of his arm on 
her hand as he heard her sufferings. And then he 
told her how the first officer and the doctor were in- 
timate friends of his, and that he had been so 
wretched, so disinclined to mingle with the other 
passengers that he had kept entirely aloof, except 
at meal-times ; and thus they had not met till now. 

What a rapturous walk that was to Madge ! And 
yet marred by the ever-recurring thought that the 
moment she landed she must hide herself from 
him. She could not trust herself to be with him. 
Her nature was not a self-contained or cold one, 
and safety lay only in flight. 



CHAPTER XXXVL 

At the time when Laura Perceval was breakfast- 
ing and comforting herself pn Mrs. Mortimer’s sud- 
den move, Lord Ferrars was thinking in distress of 
his course. Three days had elapsed and, though 
he thought he knew from the beginning what his 
answer must be, he put off the evil hour. But now 
he could do so no longer ; he must let Laura know. 
He was white with contending emotions as he came 
to this resolution. He took pen and paper, sat 
down ; and then, suddenly pushing it from him, 
rose and once more fought the battle over again. 

“ What ! Give up all ? Clara’s fortune, every- 
thing — for what ? Only a chimera, a scruple that, 
as she says, can wrong no one, since Madge dare 
claim nothing. And then I could compensate her 
that she would be really as well off. And ought I 
not to think of Clara ? She loves me, poor darling ! 
And to give this up is to lose her beyond hope. 
Ah, what a wretched alternative ! But if I marry 
her, should I ever dare to think — could I dare to 
have children and let them wear my name, my 
coronet, when I have dragged it in the dust ? No, 
by heaven ! A weak, unprincipled fool I may have 

[253] 


254 


Yet She Loved Him. 


been, but Lwill never be the first Earl Ferrars who 
has soiled the ’scutcheon by crime ! Noblesse oblige ! 
I will throw up eve,rything and go to America and 
raise sheep — anything rather than be rich on the 
proceeds of crime. No, Laura. You have built on 
my weakness, and I am ashamed to think you had 
reason to do it.” 

He sat down and wrote rapidly for an hour ; then 
ringing his bell, sent a man with the letter to St. 
John’s Wood. 

He knew he had beggared himself for ‘‘an idea,” 
but somehow, even with the knowledge that the 
girl who had stirred everything that was best in 
his nature was lost to him, he yet felt happier than 
he had done since he had seen Laura. He had 
fought a battle with his worse nature and had won. 
****** 

Laura was impatiently wondering why she did 
not hear from Gerald, or rather see him, when his 
letter was brought. She did not like the sight of 
the thick packet. He could only^have to tell her 
that he agreed to her terms, and would see her. 
He must have spent this interval in getting free of 
his engagement. It could be nothing else he had 
to say. 

Her hands trembled with anxiety as she opened 
the letter, and then an awful change came over her 
expectant face as she read, whitening it to the 
lips, her black eyes glowed with somber fire, and 
when she had read every word, her breath came in 
low gasps. She sank on a couch, and fought against 
the mad rage and despair that urged her to des- 


Yet She Loved Him, 


255 


perate deeds. In the end her strong will conquered, 
and she rose — tense, rigid, but unnaturally calm. 

“ Now, evil, be thou my good !” she exclaimed, as 
she tore the letter into a thousand fragments and 
scattered it. 

She dressed herself carefully, and when she saw 
her own white face in the glass she shuddered. She 
hardly knew that hard desperate woman who looked 
back at her. 

Half an hour later she was at Lawrence St. John’s 
chambers. He was not there ; his new man told 
her he had gone out and might not be back until 
evening. She wrote a note and left it for him, and 
then she went to the steamer office to inquire about 
steamers for New York. She was restless for ac- 
tion. That man, that villain, must be beggared 
without delay ! Not a day longer than she could 
help should he enjoy his wealth ! How bitterly she 
regretted that she had sent Madge away. How sure 
she had been of her power. The little backbone 
Ferrars had displayed she had not credited him 
with. She had believed he would succumb to her 
wholly. Now as soon as ever Madge could be got 
back, she must, and she had determined already in 
her mind a way in which the will should be found. 
She would make it look weatherbeaten and then 
visit Melford, and, walking in the grounds, this 
weather-stained document would be found, as if the 
murderer had dropped it. To induce Madge to 
come back and claim her own, she would assure her 
she had seen St. John, who, if she would allow him 
half the amount of the income her father had left. 


256 


Yet She Loved Him. 


would agree to leave her quite unmolested. But all 
this, she knew, written in a letter, would not bring 
her back. She must go to America and add her 
blandishments to persuade her. She had found a 
German steamer would leave Southampton that 
very day. She would barely have time to go home 
and pack a few things and take the train. She had 
told Lawrence to come and see her that evening, 
but she could not wait. She wrote another note for 
him, telling him she had found out where Madge was 
and had gone for her, and that she was anxious to 
bring matters to a crisis as soon as possible after 
her return, which would be in a month. This she 
addressed to him, and giving it to Mrs. Mortimer’s 
servant, she told her to give it to the gentleman 
who should call that evening and ask for her. 

Laura cared very little now for that certificate of 
marriage that was to hold St. John in check. She 
cared not for power over him now ; his interest 
was hers. 

An hour later she was on her way to Southampton, 
and that evening she embarked on the steamer 
Wilna, bound for New York. 

•X- * * * * * 

When Mrs. Mortimer returned, her servant gave 
her the note that Laura had left for St. John and 
one for herself, explaining her absence. And this 
man, who had killed her sister, was coming to the 
house, and she knew it. Well, she would see him, 
she would accuse him and, although she had no 
proof, he should not dare to think the crime she 
was convinced he had committed was unsuspected. 


Yet She Loved Him, 


257 


She gave orders that when he came he was to be 
shown up to Laura’s room, and then she would take 
up the note herself and give it him. 

It so happened that when Lawrence called, Mrs. 
Mortimer had a visitor ; the servant, therefore, asked 
him up into Laura’s room and begged him to wait 
for a few minutes. It was getting dark, yet the gas 
was not lighted. There was a pretty little balcony, 
and, after waiting a few rhinutes, he thought long- 
ingly of a cigar. 

“ Well, I suppose Laura will not thank me to 
smoke among all this prettiness, but I will fumigate 
her flowers !” 

He stepped out and, lighting his cigar, seated 
himself rather dangerously, it seemed, on the low 
railing. He had taken a little too much brandy, as 
he had been apt to do lately, and instead of steady- 
ing his nerves it weakened them. He had not 
really been in the house many minutes, but the 
hour was just that when night falls apace, and, 
looking into the garden below, he was reminded of 
the apparition of Cicely he had seen when last 
here. Furtively he looked down, but nothing was 
visible. 

“Curse that girl! Why didn’t she light the 
gas?” 

Suddenly his gaze was transfixed ! Right before 
him, in the window, seeming to belong to nothing, 
was a white hand, and on it a ring — again the ring. 
He saw nothing but that. He saw not in the dark- 
ness the long, dark figure of Mrs. Mortimer, nor the 
white face above, only that hand and the ring. And 


Yet She Loved Him. 


258 


then it advanced toward him. With a scream of 
horror he recoiled and, losing his balance, fell. 

Mrs. Mortimer dropped the note she held and 
rushed down-stairs, screaming as she went, and 
then out of the house, followed by the servants. 

There lay Lawrence St. John senseless on the 
ground. His fall had been from no great height ; 
no bones seemed broken ; he was only stunned, 
perhaps, in spite of that still face with the something 
in it that made Mrs. Mortimer shudder. Then the 
doctor came, and to the surprise and horror of every 
one, pronounced life extinct. He had fallen on his 
head, and his neck was broken. 

Mrs. Mortimer alone was not horrified ; only 
struck with a strange awe. She knew nothing of 
the awful significance that ring had for him. She 
believed he had been terrified by her likeness to 
her sister. 

It amounted to the same thing : A guilty con- 
science had killed him ! 




CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The sun shone brilliantly over New York Bay as 
the Gallia steamed into port. John Lorrimer stood 
looking at the beautiful scene, his dark eyes flash- 
ing with happiness, his handsome face anihiated 
and enthusiastic. He was approaching the land he 
loved, with the woman he loved. He refused to 
think of anything further as he eagerly pointed out 
to her one object of interest after another. 

“ I do not wonder you love this beautiful country,” 
said Madge. But in her eye there was a tender 
sadness he had tried in vain to chase away. But 
she guarded her secret so well, he did not guess 
her fear of her own heart and that in these three 
days, while tasting such bliss as he had never 
dreamed, she was maturing a resolution as cruel to 
herself as to him ; and while he was so joyfully ex- 
patiating on the charms of his own country and pic- 
turing to himself how, as a brother, he would help 
her to forget the past and enjoy the future, she was 
telling herself she must fly from this dangerous 
pleasure and planning how to do it. She knew 
there were other great cities besides New York, and 

[259] 


26 o 


Yet She Loved Him, 


tried to fix on one to which she might go directly 
she could get from under Lorrimer’s watchful care. 

Lorrimer watched her with a puzzled, anxious 
expression as they left the noble vessel, and went 
through all the tiresome details incidental on land- 
ing in this new world. 

Nothing seemed to excite her curiosity or inter- 
est. She was preoccupied with some thought he 
tried hard to understand. Could it be regret at 
leaving England ? But had she not already ex- 
pressed joy at being free from haunting fear? 

“ I will take you to the Albemarle ; that ’s the 
quietest hotel I know of,” he said. “And when 
you are rested we will talk over your plans.” 

“ I thank you. And where do you go !” she asked. 

“ Oh, I ’m at home in New York,” he replied. “ I 
have a brother here, and we have bachelor quarters 
together. I wish I had a sister or a mother, for 
your sake.” 

Lady Madge was very thankful he had not. How 
difficult would it have been to escape feminine at- 
tentions ! She little knew yet of man’s persistence. 
How, when actuated by absorbing love, it could en- 
compass her more infinitely than any feminine care. 

When they reached the hotel. Lady Madge went 
to the rooms Lorrimer ordered for her. She found 
he had engaged an elegant suite overlooking Broad- 
way, and smiled sadly to herself to think how short 
a time she would need them. 

She had wished him good-by and thanked him as 
he left her on the stairs. She had purposely in- 
fused nothing of the “ farewell ;” she meant it to be 


Yet She Loved Him. 


261 


in her tones ; she longed to do so, but conquered 
herself ; he must not guess. 

She went into her bedroom and refreshed herself 
with a bath and a change of clothing, and just as 
she was ready to come forth and pursue her plan 
of leaving the hotel and starting for Philadelphia 
before she should see Lorrimer again, a waiter en- 
tered with an exquisite luncheon. 

She had not thought of food, so full of her plan 
had she been, but the sight of it reminded her how 
necessary it was for her to eat. 

“Was this lunch ordered ?” she asked, not quite 
knowing whether such things might not be supplied 
as a matter of course in this country. 

“ Yes, madam ; the gentleman ordered it.” 

It was very sweet to her to have her necessities 
catered to by the man she loved. 

Scarcely had she lunched when Lorrimer sent up 
his card and a penciled request that she would see 
him for a few moments on business. 

Lady Madge was taken aback somewhat. She 
had calculated on his having to go away to his own 
quarters to remove the travel stains. She had no 
conception of the convenient possibilities of an 
American hotel. But she could not refuse to see 
him, that was certain. 

When he entered he had evidently lately gone 
through the barber’s hands, so that her hopes that 
he might yet be forced to go awa)^ to dress was dis- 
appointed. He held in his hands a bunch of superb 
Marechal Niel roses, whose long, languid heads 
started from a nest of Parma violets. 


262 


Yet She Loved Him. 


“ Let me give you a few of our New World 
blossoms,” he said, “ as a token that you haven’t 
left all the roses of life behind you.” 

Madge took the blossoms and held them lovingly 
to her. Ah, how sad it was she had to fly from this 
man — this love that would to illumine her path ! 
But she knew she was reaping as she had sown. 

“ I came up to ask you whether you like your 
rooms, or if you would rather let me seek for you 
a quiet home in a private family. I recommend the 
latter.” 

“Yes,” vsaid M-adge, hastily. “I have to live 
economically, and this must be expensive, but you 
must please let me manage for myself — you — you 
must not — ” 

“ Must not what ?” he asked. “ You surely do not 
mean that I must not do for you what a brother 
would? You do not think, I hope, that, having 
found you here and alone, I will let you act as if 
you were friendless? Besides, you could not ! You 
could not take the first step in this city alone, you 
are too young and beautiful not to be open to mis- 
conception !” 

Madge had feared this, yet she must risk it. Yes, 
while she had believed herself indifferent to it, she 
might have accepted his brotherly care, now she 
dare not. 

“ Come, Lady Margaret, make up your mind to 
trust yourself to my care, and we will drive at once 
to a lady I know, who will advise us where to seek 
what you want. I want, too, to show you some of 
the beauties of my native city.” 


Yet She Loved Him. 


263 


“Oh, no, no!” cried Madge. “Do leave me 
please do, I am not well, I cannot do anything to 
day !” 

Alas, if she had expected then to send him from 
her, she was mistaken. 

“Not well!” he cried, and all his affected cool- 
ness was gone. He came to her and looked anx- 
iously in her face. “ Not well, my dearest ! What 
is the matter?” 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing ! It only means you must 
leave me ! Ah, don’t you understand — that I — that 
you must not be with me, that I am a married 
woman in the sight of the law, though not in the 
sight of God.” 

“ My darling, what change is this? You are not 
more married now than you were in London, and 
you had, no such fear. Great heaven, you cannot 
think, because you are here alone, you are in danger 
from me !” 

“ Oh, no, no !” 

“ What is it then ? Ah !” he cried, for some new 
tenderness in her eyes sent a ray of joy to his heart. 
“ Is it possible you yourself have changed, that you 
love me, my darling ?” 

She hid her face in her hands, but he could see 
the burning blushes covering her neck and brow. 

“ My dear one, don’t say one word, I see, I un- 
derstand, and I thank God ! But you need fear 
nothing, I know now that we cannot be only friends, 
and more than friends we must not be, yet there is 
deep joy in my heart, darling. Even this is some- 
thing to live for ! I am going, you need not fear 


264 


Yel She Loved Him. 


me ! I will not come near you. I will send the 
lady I spoke of, who will counsel and befriend you. 
I promise never to see you alone, even if the chance 
offers after this.” 

He seized her hand and pressed a passionate kiss 
on it, and then, without another word or look, he 
left the room. 

After he had gone she ran to the window and 
watched till she saw his tall form emerge and cross 
into Madison Square. 

“ Now, quick, I must go ! He means to be true to 
his word, but I dare not trust. I must leave this 
before he can do anything to prevent.” 

And with hurried, feverish hands she packed 
the little baggage she had, and rang the bell to 
make inquiries about modes of travel and time for 
departure. 

****** 

Lorrimer bethought himself after he had left the 
Albemarle that he had been so engrossed by Madge, 
he had not gone to his club, to which he had ordered 
Martin to send any news he might have by tele- 
graph. He did not expect any telegram, but it was 
perhaps as well to see. 

He went direct to the Manhattan and, to his sur- 
prise, found two cablegrams had been waiting for 
him several days. He tore one open ; it was from 
Martin : 

‘‘ Certificate found. Wife was living after date of second 
marriage.” 

He stared at the message as if he could not under- 
stand. 


Yet She Loved Him, 


265 


Can it be ? He almost forgot that he had still 
one telegram unopened ; he was going away with it 
still in his hand, when he remembered it. He 
opened it anxiously, as if it contained a fiat of fate 
that might reverse the news of the first message. 

Fraught with fate indeed was it. Happy fate ! Its 
words were : 

St. John killed by accident. Letter.” 

How he got from the office and to the Albemarle 
Hotel he never knew, so intoxicated was he with 
happiness. He pictured to himself Madge, darling 
Madge, aglow with joy as he had first seen her. 
When she should hear his news she would not be- 
lieve it, and then it would be his sweet task to con- 
vince her. His heart throbbed jojmusly, and all 
his blood coursed through his veins like liquid fire 
as he drove to the hotel, and hastily wrote a line on 
his card and handed it to the hall porter who, look- 
ing at it, returned it. 

“ The lady went away a few minutes ago, sir.” 

Gone ! Gone away ! Impossible !” 

He rushed from the man to the office, and there 
found that Madge had indeed gone. 

“Poor, dear, mad girl!” he murmured, all his 
bright hopes terribly dashed. “Why could fate 
be so cruel as to send her wandering, when happi- 
ness awaited her.” 

Then he bethought him that she had doubtless 
procured information at the office, which would 
give him a clue to where vshe was gone. He found 
on inquiry that she had inquired about Phila- 


266 


Yet She Loved Him. 


delphia trains, and had taken a hack to the Pennsyl- 
vania Depot. 

Lorrimer hastily asked the time the train would 
start, and found she had gone an hour too soon, and 
that he would have time to stop her. 

Anxiously he endured the inevitable delays that 
beset the hack before it could reach its destination. 
Many times he believed he could have walked much 
more quickly — for it was before the days of rapid 
transit ; but common sense prevailed, and he kept 
his seat till he found himself before the ferry, and 
then he sprang out, rushed past every one, and 
there, bewildered, frightened, pale and unutterably 
sad, stood Madge, poor, forlorn traveller. 

Ah, it was good to see the rush of joy in her face, 
the glad little cry with which she started to meet 
him as he entered the ferry-house ; and then, re- 
membering her resolution, hung back. But he was 
by her side, looking with happy eyes down into the 
little, sad face that was so soon to light with joy. 
But he could not waste the bliss of seeing it, of tell- 
ing his story in that place. Taking her hand, he 
said in a broken voice : 

“ Come, my little would-be traveller! I have news 
for you.” 

“ I dare not — I cannot.” 

“ You dare and you can.” 

Overpowered by something masterful in his tone, 
she yielded ; and when they were once in the car- 
riage he turned to her and said in a voice shaken 
and trembling : 

“ My darling, you are mine ! Nothing comes be- 


Yel She Loved Him. 


267 


tween us. You were never really married to that 
man. See !” He saw she could not believe, and 
he put the written words before her. And then, 
with a low, joyful cry, she turned to him. “ My 
darling, my precious, my sweet little girl !” he cried, 
straining her passionately to his breast and raining 
kisses on her face, hands and hair. 

Was there ever such happiness since the world 
began as that of these two happy people ? They 
thought not, at all events. 




CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A wild night at sea and a brave vessel struggling 
with the wave, her saloon full of frightened men 
and women, who look at each other in awe as one 
tremendous wave after another washes over the 
deck and they hear the ominous orders given above. 

The good ship Wilna is in deadly peril. Her 
screw broke before the storm, and she is almost 
helpless before the wind and waves. 

One woman, with a wild, white face, is more ter- 
rified than the rest. She speaks to no one, she has 
not done so since she came on board at Southamp- 
ton, and now she paces the saloon, her hands 
clenched on either side. 

“ Heavens, what have I done ? I am not fit to 
die !” she mutters, and, as one terrible sound after 
another reveals the extremity of their peril, her 
despairing face is one to strike terror into the be- 
holders. 

“ That unhappy woman has an evil conscience,’' 
one remarks to another, but she heeds nothing and 
only listens, and then there comes a cry : 

“The boats! The boats!” and the doors are 
flung open and the passengers reach the deck, 
[268] 


Yet She Loved Him. 


269 


clinging to one another to save themselves from 
being blown down. Boats — a hopeless effort in 
such a sea. 

The woman with the white face looks terror- 
stricken at them. 

“ I will not go in one, I should sink it,'’ she moans 
to herself. Then, grasping something in her hand, 
she asks a tall man near her, if he is a good 
swimmer. 

“ No, worse luck, for we shall all need our swim- 
ming powers to-night ! That man there,” pointing 
to a short, stout man, “ is said to be the best swimmer 
on board !” 

Even at that hour Laura Perceval looked at the 
man who spoke with a kind of vague wonder. What 
a free conscience he must have ! So near death, no 
swimmer and so calm ! But she had something to 
do ; she would not live through this night, she knew. 
She felt whoever else survived the wreck of the 
Wilna, she would not. 

Holding on by anything she could grasp, she 
made her way to the stout man, who was a good 
swimmer, and addressed him : 

“ Sir, I have a packet here of great importance 
to a great family. I shall not see the morning light. 
Will you take it?” 

Many of us will not see the morning light, 
I 'm thinking,” said the man ; “but I '11 do anything 
if I live—” 

“ You will live. I think it — I feel it,” she said in 
prophetic tones. “ Take this, and when you reach 
a shore send it to its destination.” 


2/0 


Yet She Loved Him. 


She handed a packet, wrapped in oilskin, to him, 
and he took it and placed it in his breast. 

I will do my best to carry out your wishes. If 
I live, it shall be done ; but don’t you give up the 
ghost like this. You may get through as well as 
any of us. Stick to me ; I ’ll do my best for you.” 

Laura shook her head drearily. 

“ I will drag no one down with me. I have done 
such wrong that I hope for no mercy. My doom is 
sealed.” 

An hour later not a vestige remained to tell 
where the Wilna had battled with the waves. One 
boat lived on the sea with its freight of human life, 
but no woman was in it. Laura Perceval’s fore- 
boding came true ; she never saw again the morn- 
ing light. 

****** 

Six months later. Mr. and Mrs. Lorrimer — or 
Lady Margaret I^orrimer, had she so chosen to call 
herself — were standing on the Cunard wharf wait- 
ing the arrival of the Scythia. Our Madge has 
taken kindly to her adppted country. She looks 
like a rose as, beaming with happiness, she stands 
there, watching the beautiful vessel draw near. 
And while they wait we will tell what brought 
them there. 

It was some time after Lorrimer discovered his 
own happiness before he remembered that he had 
left Jennie and Terry, now a married couple, to 
keep a nest warm for Madge ; and when he did 
come down to earthly things sufficiently to take 
heed of them, he told Madge, and asked if they 


Yet She Loved Him. 


271 


should return to England after their marriage, 
which was to take place immediately, or whether 
she could be content to remain in this country. 

“ Ah, dearest, I found my happiness here. Let 
us stay,” she said. 

And they had married and stayed. Then Lorri- 
mer had formally written and informed Lord Fer- 
rars, as head of the house, of the marriage. 

Gerald waited for weeks for Laura to fulfill her 
threat ; but he heard nothing. And then had come 
news of the wreck of the Wilna, and the name of 
Laura Perceval among the passengers. He then 
went to Mrs. Mortimer to learn if it could possibly 
be the Laura, for he knew nothing of her intended 
voyage, and learned from her that she had actually 
started for America. 

His danger was over, for he began to believe it 
was an idle threat she had used ; that she had had 
no other will to bring forward, and he began to be 
quite comfortable, when the letter from Lorrimer 
came, and showed him why Laura had gone to 
America, and that it had been to bring Madge back. 
But Laura was dead. He had every possible search 
made for the will, but it was not to be found, and 
then he felt he might, with a clear conscience, 
marry Clara. He hastened the wedding, and the 
parents, only too glad to make sure of their wealthy 
and noble son-in-law, agreed to the early marriage. 

But while the wedding-party was still in the 
house — as the bride and groom were about to get 
into their carriage to drive away on their wedding- 
tour — a short, stout man appeared, and said he had 


272 


Yet She Loved Him. 


pressing business with Lord Ferrars. In vain the 
servants told him he could not be seen ; the man 
would not go ; he stood on the steps till he saw Lord 
Ferrars appear, then spoke : 

“ My lord, I bring you a message from the dead !” 

Lord Ferrars stopped suddenly ; his lips blanched. 
Instinctively his thoughts turned to unhappy Laura, 
as they had been doing all day. Was her ven- 
geance pursuing him beyond the grave ? 

He took a package from the man’s hand. 

“ I promised a lady in the last hours in which 
she lived to deliver this to its address, if I lived — I 
have done so.” 

Ferrars looked at the man ; he was prosperous 
looking, but not rich, evidently. 

“ I thank you,” he said. “ You have been at some 
expense to bring this, no doubt; allow me — ” 

“Not a penny, my lord. I was coming to Lon- 
don on my own business.” 

He raised his hat and walked briskly away, leav- 
ing the packet in the bridegroom’s hands. 

He thrust it in his pocket and joined his bride in 
the carriage. 

The new Lady Ferrars saw her husband’s agi- 
tated face, and asked him what caused it. 

“ My darling, if you will allow me, I will see if I 
have any cause or not.” 

He cut open the package. It contained a note 
and the missing will of the late Lord Ferrars. The 
note he opened with trembling fingers. Did she 
bequeath him a curse on his wedding day ? But 
no ! He read : 


Yet She Loved Hint. 


273 


‘‘Gerald. — When you read this I shall be no more. I send 
you the will. Act as you choose. I forgive you.” 

“ Clara,” said Lord Ferrars, “ what would you 
say if, instead of six months on the continent of 
Europe, we spend it in America ?” 

And then he began his married life well. He 
told her all — that everything depended on what he 
should now do, and that he had but to tear that 
document in half to keep his wealth. And Clara 
as a true woman, strengthened the beginning of 
good that had dawned when he fought his fight 
with temptation, and honor triumphed. 

“ Darling, we will go anywhere, but we can live 
poor ; we cannot afford to live dishonored.” 

Ah ! He had chosen his wife well. How did 
such as he deserve such as she ? 

And so they embarked on the Scythia at Liver- 
pool instead of going to Paris ; and when Madge 
and her husband came to meet Terry and Jennie, 
who had elected to come to the New World, her 
cousin and his bride, whom she had never seen, 
stepped off the vessel. 

I pass over the surprise of both. 

When Terry and Jennie, looking proud of each 
other, and very happy, had been welcomed heartily 
by those they had so affectionately served, and sent 
in a hack to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lorrimer, 
Madge insisted on his cousin and his wife going 
with them also, instead of to a hotel, and then as 
the four drove uptown, Gerald placed in Lorrimer’s 
hands the missing will, saying : 

That is what brought me, Lorrimer !” 


Yet She Loved Hint. 


274 


Thus, after all her trials, Madge found herself an 
enormously rich woman ; and she wanted no wealth. 
Lorrimer’s fortune was very ample. She consulted 
her husband, and they both agreed that, as no posi- 
tion could be more cruel than that of a man with a 
great name and a small fortune, and as she, in elect- 
ing to live in America, was leaving the duties she 
owed to those whom her presence would have bene- 
fited, she should divide her income with Gerald 
that he might keep up the traditions of the family 
worthily. 

Thus, when Gerald returned to England, it was 
as a rich man. 

In his case, honesty had certainly been the best 
policy. While Gerald was with his cousin, too, he 
learned the whole story of her life, and who had 
really murdered Lord Ferrars. 

“ Of course, this must be made known,” said 
Gerald. “ There may yet be people in England 
who think you may have been implicated, dear 
Margaret.” 

“ Let them so think,” .she answered, in her radi- 
ant happiness. “ I can afford it, and let the un- 
happy dead rest.” 

And yet, somehow, it did all come out, and when 
Madge went to England with her baby boy, Bally- 
reen, she met with a perfect ovation, not only in the 
places that knew her well, but all English society 
had heard of her vicissitudes, and seemed anxious 
to do her honor. But her success as a beauty and 
society queen does not wean her from her husband’s 
country where her happy home is, and she always 


Yet She Loved Him. 


275 


turns to it gladly, after her yearly pilgrimage to the 
old country.” 

Terry and Jennie have a cottage on the estate 
Lorrimer owns on the Hudson, and have another 
Terry of their own, and they never regret the day 
when they sailed on the Scythia to the new world. 

THE END. 




JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. 


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JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER, 

BY JULIA MAGRUDER. 


CHAPTER I. 

J EPHTHAH, the Gileadite, had only one child, 
a young maiden named Namarah, and beside 
her, he had neither son nor daughter. Now, 
Jephthah was a mighty man of valor, and his name 
was feared exceedingly, albeit he had a heart most 
kind and tender, and the chief treasure of his heart 
was even the maiden Namarah ; for he had been 
father and mother and all in all to the young child, 
whose other parent had died, and left her to the 
great soldier, as the sole fruit of a happy wedded 
love, too early cut off by death. 

As the child grew into girlhood, it was known to 
her, by comparing her father to the other men she 
saw, that he was not as they ; a gloom was ever on 
his face, except when his eyes were upon her, and 
then, indeed, he would look glad and smile. Na- 

[277I 


278 


Jephthalis Daughter. 


marah always felt that it was the early death of her 
young mother that made her father’s face look sad, 
even (when aglow with pride she would look at him 
all in glittering armor) as he rode his magnificent 
war-horse at the head of his host. For this, her 
heart was very tender to him, and she strove the 
more to make up to him by the sweet service of her 
love for what he had lost. As she grew older, and 
stories , of the sin and folly of the world were told 
her, there was known to her a deeper reason yet 
for her father’s melancholy. The stern grief of 
childhood had preceded the grief of age, and, 
though she only gained her knowledge by putting 
many small hints and observations together, she 
learned that this gentle father had been himself a 
neglected and abused son, whose mother he had 
never known, and whose father and brethren had 
treated him with cruelty and injustice. As his 
father’s younger sons grew up, they hated Jephthah 
because he was stronger and of a nobler presence 
than themselves, and they thrust him out of their 
father’s house, that they and their mother might be 
no more offended at the sight of him. So Jephthah 
fled from his brethren and dwelt in the land of Tob. 
But so great a soldier was he, so majestic in appear- 
ance and so valiant in fight, that the fame of him 
went abroad throughout the land, and came even 
unto the ears of his brethren. 

In the land of Tob he took a wife, and there were 
spent his days of happiness, and there was born 
unto him the child Namarah. But it came to pass, 
before the babe could stand upon its feet, the wife 


Jephthali s Daughter, 




of Jephthali died and was buried, and in all the 
world there was no comfort to the man save in the 
child Namarah. Her he watched and tended as his 
all in all, and so great was his love and kindness to 
her, that her heart was knit to his, even as his to 
hers. And in all the land there was no maiden so 
fair and beautiful. Her eyes were like cool streams 
of limpid water, for clearness and for blueness like 
the heaven above. Her skin for whiteness, was 
like the leaves of some little woodland flower on 
which the sun hath never shone, but which the gen- 
tle winds of shady places have fanned and kept 
cool. Her hair, wonderful, soft and dusky, was like 
the brown leaves of th6 forest, and when she shook 
it down, it wrapped the slimness of her body round 
and clothed her like a garment. Her voice, when 
she spoke, was ever sweet and low, as the cooing of 
the wood-doves in the branches, and when she lifted 
it up and sang with the maidens that were her com- 
panions, it was, for clearness, like the sky-lark’s. 

What wonder that Namarah was unto her father 
as the light of his eyes, and that many young men, 
strong and goodly to see, looked upon her with 
favor and sought her to wife. But of all these she 
would have none, disdaining even to hear them 
speak, and saying only that her life and service 
were her father’s wholly, and she desired the love 
and companionship of no man but him. When he 
was at home, she never left his side ; tempting his 
appetite with dainty dishes when he was exhausted 
and in need of food, serving him with her own 
hands at table, and bringing herself the fresh water 


28 o 


Jephthali s Daughter. 


for his ablutions ; after which she would bend her 
head for his blessing, and then lift up her face with 
a smile of radiance, good to cheer a weary man. 
If it was his will to stay at home and rest him from 
his strenuous exercises- of arms, she would sit be- 
side him, and draw his great head down upon her 
lap, and with her little milk-white fingers ruffie or 
smooth the thick masses of his curly hair and mag- 
nificent beard until she coaxed him to sleep. 

“What love do I want more than his?” she would 
ask herself. “ Why should I leave him desolate, to 
take up my life with another, who must ever be as 
a stranger to me compared to him who hath been 
my companion and my friend my whole life through ? 
And where is another like unto him ? In all the 
land there is not one who, beside him, seems not 
base and small.” 

And when Jephthah would wake from sleep, she 
would clasp and cling to him, and beg him that they 
never should be parted. 

“ Nay, my daughter,” he would answer ; “ it must 
not be that thou sacrifice th thy young life for me 
for whom pleasure is over. I would have thee 
wedded to a good man, who will cherish thee ; and 
in seeing thee happy, and having thy children on 
my knee, I shall know the best joy that is left 
for me.” 

Then Namarah would weep, and implore him not 
to send her from him, saying that what he pictured 
as her happiness looked to her like the very face of 
death, so greatly did she dread it. Whereat her 
father Jephthah would but smile, and say it would 


Jephthalis Daughter. 


281 


not be so with her one day, when the lord and mas- 
ter of her heart should come. 

“ He is here,” she would say, flinging her white 
arms about him, “ there will be never any other.” 
And Jephthah would smile again and say only the 
one word : “ Wait,” whereat Namarah would grow 
almost angry, and tears of vexation would spring 
into her eyes. Then would Jephthah rouse him- 
self and stand upright on his strong legs, and lift 
her in his mighty arms, as though she were still the 
little maid he used to toss and dandle, and hold her 
high above his head, and refuse to let her down 
from this unseemly altitude until the break of her 
childish laughter had blown away her tears. 

It happened one fair morning, when earth and 
air and sky seemed all to meet in a blessed promise 
of tranquillity and peace, that Namarah stood in the 
midst of her garden, with a small basket on her 
arm, from which she was scattering grain to a flock 
of white doves, which, fluttering from far and near, 
came to her feet and sank down there, a moving 
mass of snowy plumage, from which her slender 
figure, clad in spotless white, rose up like a human 
emanation from their pure loveliness of hue and 
outline. Her face and throat and hands were pure 
white, too, and a look of deep serenity was upon 
her. The sky above seemed not more still and 
placid. 

She raised her hand and put a few grains of the 
food into her mouth, and at the motion some of the 
doves were frightened and flew up, with a whirring 
noise, only to circle round and come back again and 


202 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


fall to nodding and dipping about for the grain at 
her feet. Presently one of the flock flew up and 
alighted on her shoulder, then another and another. 
Namarah opened her red lips and showed the dark 
grains held tight between her little white teeth; 
at which a pecking and fluttering began among the 
three tame doves, as she would offer her mouth first 
to one and then another. It was evidently a fa- 
miliar game which all the participants enjoyed. 

Suddenly, there was a great whirring and flutter- 
ing, and the whole flock flew wildly off, and were 
out of sight behind the trees, before Namarah, left 
quite alone, perceived the cause of their fright. A 
young man, taller even than Jephthah, her father, 
but with the ruddiness of youth and dawning man- 
hood upon his beardless face, stood before her, all 
in shining armor, on which the moving light danced 
and glinted. He had taken off his helmet, and 
sunlight kissed sunlight in the gold of his thick 
curls. And, behold, when Namarah turned and 
looked at him, a strange thing came to pass. Her 
white cheeks, which no one had ever seen other 
than calm and colorless, were all at once suffused 
with pink, as if a rose had been suddenly placed 
beneath a piece of fair white cambric ; and in that 
moment she became a hundred times more beauti- 
ful than she had ever been before. The young 
man colored, too, and bent his golden head, as he 
said : 

“If this be the maiden, Namarah, thy father 
Jephthah hath sent me to ask of thee some pieces 
of his armor that he hath need of.” 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


283 


“ Is he going into a fight?” the maiden asked, the 
rose disappearing from her cheeks. “ Will he not 
see me, to say farewell ?” 

“ There is, in truth, some danger of a fight,” the 
young man answered, “ for the times are troublous, 
and a mighty man like Jephthah must be ever 
ready ; but his name is great and terrible, and in 
going forth to put down the enemy that hath so 
suddenly arisen, I think the report that thy father 
Jephthah leadeth the host will be enough, and that 
there will be no bloodshed. But, maiden,” he 
added, more gently, seeing that her face looked 
still affrighted, “ I pray thee have no fear for the 
safety of thy father. I will even guard his body 
with my own.” And, as he spoke, he looked on her 
and loved her. 

Namarah met the look, and the trouble of her 
face grew deeper. She felt the disturbing power of 
that quiet gaze, but all her thought was for her 
father. 

“ Maiden,” the young man murmured, in a voice 
that had a softened cadence, “ already, even to-day, 
there hath been a surprise attack, and your father 
hath been in danger; but it pleased God that I 
should be near him, to protect him, as I could, and 
for this cause Jephthah, thy father, hath chosen me 
to be his armor-bearer, so that in future my place 
will be beside him ; and I say but the truth when I 
tell thee that I will protect his life with mine own.” 

“ But, truly,” said Namarah, “thou art very noble, 
and life to thee is even also dear.” 

“ Life would be dear to me no longer, maiden,” 


284 


JephthaJis Daughter. 


he made answer, “ if I should look upon thy face 
to tell thee that I lived and Jephthah, thy father, 
was slain.” 

This time, when he spake the words ''thy father p 
it seemed unto the maiden that his voice dwelt 
upon them by the space of half a second. The 
idea glanced through her agitated mind like light- 
ning, but afterward she .bethought her of it. But 
now the young man spake again, and reminded her 
of his errand. 

“ My lord Jephthah hath sent thee his blessing 
through me,” he said, “ and he prays thee to be of 
good cheer, and to dread no danger for him.” 

“ I cannot choose but dread,” the maiden answered, 
as she walked beside him to the house, and led the 
way to where her father’s armor lay. 

“ Nay, but surely,” said the young man, full 
humbly, “ thou wilt be a little comforted because 
of the promise I have given thee ?” 

“Ay,” said Namarah, “ it doth comfort me much, 
and I thank thee from my very heart ; but the 
thought of battle ever makes me tremble, although 
I am a soldier’s child. I pray thee, give my loving 
greeting to my father, and tell him I go at once to 
pray the God of Israel for his safety.” 

“ Maiden, I also \\rould be thought of in thy 
prayers,” the young man said, half doubtingly ; and 
she answered : 

“ I will pray for thee also, soldier. Tell me thy 
name.” 

And he said : 

My name is Adina.” 


Jepht halls Daughter. 285 


Then once more he looked at her, and again his 
strange look troubled her ; and as she stood and 
watched the goodly figure in its shining armor 
down the streets of Mizpeh, .a wonder got hold 
upon her that for the first time at the thought of 
battle her fears were not wholly for her father. 

Long time she knelt and prayed, her maidens 
waiting without: and all her struggle was to re- 
cover the lost feeling that her father was her all in 
all , but another image rose up, over and over again, 
and would not be forgotten. At last she gave it up, 
and murmured, half aloud : 

“ Bless him, even the young man Adina, also, O 
my God ; and bring them back in safety together.” 

Before the close of day, the streets of Mizpeh 
rang to the gladdening sound of the victorious re- 
turn of troops from battle. Namarah, high up in 
her chamber, watched them with breathless de- 
light, as she saw the body of soldiers coming down 
the street, and soon she was able to make out the 
majestic figure of her father, at their head. She 
was full sure of that, but still, she bent from her 
window eagerly, and strained her vision to see 
more. Suddenly, her breath was drawn in pant- 
ingly, and once more the rose was on her cheek. 
Behind her father she had recognized the tall figure 
of Adina, and her eyes continually strayed from 
one to the other, as the setting sun burnished the 
curls of his golden hair as the young man rode his 
splendid horse adown the streets of Mizpeh. 

She knelt behind the curtain of her window as 
the troop came near, escorting their leader to his 


286 


Jephthaii s Daughte7\ 


home, but her father knew this little way of hers, 
and sent a glad glance upward as he dismounted. 
Adina saw and understood the look, and quick as 
thought, glanced upward, too ; but while the look 
of Jephthah lingered on Namarah’s casement, the 
look of the young man was hastily withdrawn, 
and even in the golden flush of the sunset the hue 
of his cheek deepened. Namarah saw that it did, 
and the consciousness suddenly reminded her that 
she was thinking of some one else beside her father, 
at the moment of his return from battle, and that 
was a thing that had never happened before. She 
rose to her feet and flew down the stairs to meet 
Jephthah at the entrance to his chamber, as the 
body of soldiers passed onward down the street. 

Into his arms she sprang, her soft flesh crushed 
against the metal of his armor, and her hands 
clasped tight about his neck ; nor would she loose 
her hold when he had kissed and fondled her re- 
peatedly. 

‘‘ Dost thou love thy old father so indeed ?” he 
asked. “And art thou trembling? Why, maiden, 
thou art a soldier’s child, and battles are his daily 
work. Wilt thou never lose thy timorousness ? 
Thou lovest thy old father too much, my little one. 
Thou shouldst have some one else to spend thy 
woman’s heart upon. I would fain see thee mar:- 
ried, with a husband and children of thy own to 
love.” 

“ But at these words, behold the maiden burst 
into great sobs, and clung to his neck weeping, and 
declaring earnestly that she wanted no husband — 


THEIR GARMENTS OF SACKCLOTH WERE TORN AND STAINED.— Page S.'IO. 





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JephthaJi s D aught e7\ 


287 


she wanted no love that would separate her from 
her father. 

Then did Jephthah soothe and caress her full 
tenderly, until the smiles had scattered the tears, 
and she took his armor from him, as was her cus- 
tom, and led him to his favorite seat, that he might 
rest. 

As she stood holding the great breast-plate in her 
little hands, she said suddenly: 

Am not I as good an armor-bearer as the tall 
young man thou sentest here this morning?” 
Whereat she laughed softly and blushed again. 

“ That art thou,” answered Jephthah, fondly. “ No 
one could perform the office better than thou dost 
do it. But what thoughtest thou of the young man 
Adina ?” 

“ He seemeth to be a soldier-like young man 
enough,” Namarah answered, carelessly, and fell to 
polishing with a fold of her white gown the shield 
she was holding. 

“ Thou carest as little for him, I see, as for the 
others of his kind ; but, Namarah, see that thou 
ever treatest him kindly when he cometh in thy 
way. But for his courage in the sudden attack this 
morning, thy father might be with thee now dead 
instead of living.” 

As he told the story of the young man’s bravery 
and self-devotion, Namarah’s eyes grew brilliant, 
and her breath came thick and fast ; and as Jephthah 
dwelt upon the imminent danger that had threatened 
both, a look so terrified came into her face that he 
said again, as he had said so often : 


288 


JephthaJi s Daughter, 


“ Thou lovest thy old father too much.” 

It often happened, after this, that the young- man 
Adina would come to the house in company with 
Jephthah, or by his ordering or permission, and 
make his way to the great room where were kept 
all manner of pieces of armor and weapons, and 
other trappings of war. And at times it transpired 
that, as he approached the house, Namarah would 
be in the garden, feeding her doves. Sometimes he 
would pass on with only a gracious reverence to her, 
but again he would wax bolder and come near, 
laughing with her to see the white birds scatter at 
his approach, and then, as he would stand very still 
by Namarah’s side, settle back contentedly at her 
feet and go on with their breakfast. He delighted 
to see her feed them from her mouth ; and they 
soon grew so accustomed to him that they would 
fly to her without heeding him, sometimes perching 
for a moment on his shoulders, and hopping thence 
to hers. 

“ They are carrier-birds,” she said one morning, 
as he stood beside her thus. She looked up in his 
face and smiled, but quickly her eyes dropped to 
the doves at her feet. 

“ Hast thou tested them ?” he asked. And will 
they, indeed, bear tidings to thee from afar?” 

“ Truly, I cannot tell thee of mine own knowl- 
edge,” she made answer; “but I know it is their 
nature, and I feel assured that if one of my birds 
should be taken far away it would return to me.” 

“ Maiden, I well believe it,” he replied. And at 
these words, so gently spoken, lo, there came into 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


289 


her cheeks again that treacherous rose-color which 
he alone, or the mention of him, had power to sum- 
mon there. 

“ Dost thou believe it?” she made answer. 
“ Then, truly, thou mayst test it some day. When 
next thou goest on a journey, thou mayst take one 
of my white doves with thee, and we shall see 
whether or not it will return.” 

“ So be it, maiden,” he replied. “There is even 
now a message I would fain send thee by it, had I 
the courage.” 

And as he spoke he turned and left her, before 
the wonderment his words had roused found voice 
in speech. 

“ What message ?” she murmured again and 
again, speaking in hushed silence to her own heart, 
as .she wandered alone about the garden, or sat with 
her maidens at her embroidery. They were en- 
gaged upon the task of working a rich vestment for 
the high-priest, and no one had so fine an eye for 
the blending of colors, nor such deft fingers in 
handling the brilliant silk and golden threads with 
which they wrought, as Namarah. But as she sat 
at work to-day her mind and senses were preoccu- 
pied, so that the silks got tangled in her fingers, 
and the colors were mismatched in a clumsy 
manner that none had ever seen in Namarah be- 
fore. 

That evening, when her father Jephthah came 
home, there was a look upon his face that made Na- 
marah anxious. When their evening meal was 
ended, he called the maiden to him, and fondling 


290 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


her with more than his usual lovingness, he re- 
vealed to her the care he had upon his mind. 

“ I have not told thee of it, child,” he said, “ be- 
cause that I refrained to cause thee uneasiness until 
the time were come ; but of late there hath been 
great trouble and strife in the land of Israel, and 
the children of Ammon have made war against it. 
And in consequence of this a strange thing hath 
happened unto me, for, behold, the elders of Gilead 
have come to fetch me out of the land of Tob that 
I may be their captain to fight against the children 
of Ammon. But I spake unto them and said : ‘ Did 
ye not hate me and expel me out of my father’s 
house, and why are ye come unto me now when ye 
are in distress ?' And the elders of Israel said unto 
me : ‘ Therefore we turn again unto thee now, that 

thou mayst go with us and fight against the chil- 
dren of Ammon, and be our head over all the in- 
habitants of Gilead.’ Then said I unto the elders 
of Gilead : ‘ If ye bring me home again to fight 

against the children of Ammon, and the Lord de- 
livers them before me, shall I be your head?’ And 
behold they answered : ‘ The Lord be witness be- 

tween us, if we do not according to thy words.’ ” 

Now, as he spake, the maiden Namarah had felt 
her heart within her smitten with a great and 
mighty fear. 

“ Go not, my father,” she pleaded, hanging about 
his neck and hiding her face against him. “ Did 
not the elders of Gilead thrust thee out and disown 
thee ? Why goest thou then to fight against their 
enemies?” 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


291 


But Jephthah answered and said : 

“ These be the enemies of the Lord, my daughter, 
who have lifted up their hands against His people 
Israel, and I must even go forth to meet them, 
vStrong in the power of His might.” 

But Namarah only wept and clung to him, and 
said : 

“ Let my words find favor with thee, O my father, 
and go not forth to battle, lest thou lose thy life, 
and I be left alone and comfortless.” 

“ I would fain have thee take my tidings more 
submissively, my little one,” made answer Jephthah, 
as he stroked the masses of her unbound hair. 
“ Thy father is a soldier, and thou art a soldier’s 
child ; and I would have thee gird my armor on, 
and wish me Godspeed against the enemies of the 
Lord and His people, trusting in His power to bring 
me back, triumphant and victorious, into thy arms 
again.” 

But Namarah seemed to get no comfort from his 
words, and answered only : 

“ Do not leave me. Thou art all I have.” 

■ “ My child, my little child,” said Jephthah, with 
a mighty sweetness in his voice, “ it often grieves 
thy father’s heart that it is even so. Thou never 
knewest a mother’s care and love, and though, God 
knoweth, I have tried to let thee feel no lack of 
tenderness, yet often it doth trouble me that thou 
hast on the earth no binding tie of love save this 
to me ; and it would even fill my soul with comfort 
to see thee wed to one who might worthily cherish 
thy youth and protect thy tenderness.” 


292 


Jepht halls Daughter, 


But Namarali, with her face still hid against him, 
only shook her head, as if in strong opposition to 
his words. 

“ Child, bethink thee,” Jephthah said, when he 
had gently kissed and stroked her head in silence 
for a moment, “ it must never be for thee to die 
unwed, for who knows but the will and purpose of 
the great God may be that thou shalt be chosen 
among women to be the mother of thy people’s de- 
liverer? It hath even seemed to me that in the 
eyes of the Almighty thy meekness and pureness and 
humility may have found such grace, that this great 
honor, wherewith one woman is to be honored 
above all others, may come to rest upon thee. For- 
get not this, my daughter, and order thy mind to 
become a true and loving wife, as thou hast been to 
me a true and loving daughter. Whether this glory 
above all glories may be destined for thee or not, 
grieve not thy father’s heart by refusing to be wed, 
so that he may see thee with thy children about 
thee, before he dieth andsleepeth with his fathers.” 

Namarah made no answer, but her fluttering 
breaths grew calm, and though she spake no word 
to signify her acquiescence in his desires, yet neither 
did she gainsay him any more, a thing whereat her 
father marveled. However, he spake not the 
thought that was in his mind, but was thankful in 
the silence of his heart. 

After these weak and faint-hearted words, the 
brave spirit of the girl came into her again, and she 
went about her household duties, and particularly 
the preparatious for h^r father’s going forth to w^r^ 


Jephthah' s Daughter. 


293 


with a courage even greater than her wont. Her 
father she loaded more and more with endearments 
and caresses, but she ever avoided speech about his 
coming dangers in the field, except that once she 
said to him suddenly, and with her head bent low 
over her work : 

“ Will it be that thou takest with thee thine 
armor-bearer — the young man, Adina ?” 

And Jephthah answered : 

“ Ay.” 

“ Then,” said she, with her head still bent, “ it is 
well done, for truly he hath said to me that he would 
shield thy body with his own. But go not into 
danger, my father. Be careful of his life and of 
thine own.” 

“ Thou speakest unwisely, maiden, and not as a 
soldier’s daughter. Thou knowest that in battle a 
brave man must not shun the place of danger, but 
if he trusteth in the Lord, no harm can hurt him. 
Adina akso is a man that feareth God, and therefore 
will we trust to be delivered and brought home in 
safety.” 

“ Amen !” the maiden said, full reverently, and 
bent her head more lowly yet, as one who prayeth. 

The full moon rose o’er Jephthah’s garden on the 
eve of his going forth to battle, and Jephthah’s 
daughter stood alone and held her heart to listen. 
Her white robe fluttered in the cool air of evening 
and clung about her slender limbs ; and standing 
there, her pale face settled into mute repose, she 
looked like a fair white statue, clad in wind-blown 
raiment. No sound disturbed the stillness of the 


294 


Jepht kalis Daughter, 


night, except the cooing of the doves in their house 
close by. But, after long waiting, there mingled 
with this the tread of approaching footsteps. The 
folds of her white gown trembled on her breast, as 
if the heart beneath them fluttered. Nearer came 
the footsteps through the trees, beneath the over- 
hanging vines, until the moonlight revealed the 
tall form and noble features of the young man 
Adina. 

“ Is it thou, O maiden ?” he asked softly, stopping 
a few paces from her. “ The God of Israel bless 
thee that thou heardest my prayer, and hast let me 
speak to thee, before I go to battle. Hast thou no 
thought, Namarah, of the words that I have come 
to speak ?” 

The doves cooed and gabbled with their little 
muttering sounds, but Namarah answered not. 
They stood a pace or two apart — the maiden Na- 
marah and the young man Adina — but still the 
silence was unbroken. 

“ Hast thou even brought me here to break my 
heart, Namarah ?” the young man said. “ I love 
thee maiden and unless thou ’It love me in return, 
the God of Israel grant that I may fall in battle, for 
my life is naught to me without thee.” 

But Namarah raised her hands and hid her face 
from sight, and Adina’s voice began to tremble as 
he spake to her again, and said, full tenderly : 

“ Didst thou not know, Namarah, when I told 
thee I would send thee a message by thy bird, but 
that I lacked the courage, that that message was 
my love for thee ? As God beholds me, maiden, 


Jephthalis Daughter. 


295 


my heart hath even been knit to thine since first 
my eyes fell on thee ; and if thou love me not, my 
life is over for me.” 

Still was silent the maiden Namarah, so that 
Adina’s heart grew cold with fear within him, and 
his voice brake as he spake once more : 

“ I go forth to battle, O maiden, to fight against 
the enemies of the Lord and to shield thy father. 
It may even be that death awaits me, and if thou 
hast in thy heart aught of tenderness toward me, I 
pray thee speak, or let me go to death and silence 
and forgetfulness.” 

Then did Namarah turn to him, a sudden trem- 
bling passing over her whole body, and dropping her 
hands from before her face, she stretched them out 
toward him. Whereat Adina fell upon his knees 
and bowed his head, thinking it was her will to 
bestow her blessing upon him in token of eternal 
farewell. But with a swift and silent motion, 
Namarah was at his side, and before he could lift 
his bended head, her soft arms clung around his neck. 

“ Maiden,” he muttered, in a voice deep with 
passion, while he reached upward his strong arms, 
and held her in a close and gentle clasp, though he 
rose not from his lowly posture, “ tell me, I pray 
thee, what thou meanest. Is it for pity thou dost 
clasp me? If so — ” 

But Namarah bent her head above him, and made 
answer : 

“No, not pity — love.” 

Then did he spring to his feet, and stand erect 
in all the comely beauty of his goodly youth, and 


296 


J ephthah V Da ugh ter. 


drawing her close against his breast, he bent his 
head and kissed her. It was to Namarah the first 
time she had ever felt her heart respond to any 
sign of love, and Adina’s heart was even as virgin 
as her own. It was this in the heart of each that 
made that moment’s rapture. It was a long, long 
time that neither spake. Their arms were folded 
close about each other, and once and again their 
lips met and clung to those sweet and sacred kisses 
which are the precious fruit of purity of life. Then 
spake the young man Adina : 

“ Wilt thou have me tell thy father, Namarah, 
that we may have his blessing on our betrothal ? — 
for I think he will not turn him from me, seeing 
he hath but lately told me that he oweth unto me 
his life.” 

But Namarah answered : 

“ Nay, I would have him go forth to the fight, 
as hath been his wont of yore, believing himself 
my only object of care and love and prayer. He 
hath told me that he wills that I shall marry, and 
when thou comest back with him victorious, then 
will I tell him all, and ask his blessing. But, ah, 
Adina, my most loved one, my new-found joy and 
hope, how if the enemies of the Lord should slay 
thee, that thou returnest to me no more !” 

And at these words she fell to weeping, and 
sobbed upon his breast. But Adina comforted her 
strongly, and bade her pray to God. with faith, tell- 
ing her he felt within himself that God would pros- 
per the army of her father Jephthah, and bring 
them back victorious. 


JephtJiati s Daughter. 297 


“ Then will I claim thee for my bride, Namarah, 
thou fairest of women and maidens, and joy will be 
ours as long as life shall last.” 

Namarah clasped him closer yet, and turned her 
face upward to receive his kiss ; and behold, as his 
lips rested upon hers, they heard the doves near by 
cooing and calling. 

“ Thou shalt give me one of thy birds, Namarah,” 
Adina said ; “ and I will make for it a little cage, 
and carry it with me ; and when the enemies of the 
Lord shall have been vanquished, then will I send 
thee the tidings on the wings of thy bird.” 

And the idea pleased Namarah, and side by side 
they went together to where the doves slept, and 
Namarah opened the door and called them to her 
with the little call they knew so well ; and, although 
the time was late and strange, they circled round 
her head, and one of them settled on her shoulder. 
Namarah took it gently in her hand, and ere she 
gave it over to Adina she kissed the crest of its 
snow-white head. 

“ Come back to me in peace and triumph,” she 
said. 

And then, when Adina had taken the dove from 
her, she realized that the moment of parting was 
come, and, with a great wave of love and tender- 
ness and longing sweeping over her, she gave her 
self into her lover’s arms to receive his last em- 
brace. 

Solemn and sweet and silent it was, there in the 
holy moonlight ; and when at last she raised her 
head to speak, there were brave words on her lips. 


29S 


JephthaJi s Daughter, 


“ Thou knowest the meaning of our city’s name,” 
she said. “ Take it for an omen to comfort thee 
and rest thy heart, and I will even rest so on it, 
too.” 

‘‘ Yea, I know it,” he answered ; then kissed he 
her once more, and murmuring the word “ Mizpeh !” 
between his half-parted lips, he turned and left her 
alone. 




CHAPTER II. 

It was many a weary day that Namarah waited 
for tidings which came not. It was her habit to sit 
at work with her maidens upon the roof, or else 
high up in the top chamber of the house, and al- 
ways she would place herself near to the window 
which looked toward the field of battle, and none 
knew why it was that she strained her eyes so wist- 
fully into the air, as if she looked for and expected 
some token in the heavens. Often her work would 
fall from her fingers, and she would rest a long 
time idle, with no sound escaping her, except the 
deep-drawn sighs which none knew how to inter- 
pret. The maidens that were her companions 
looked on at this, and marveled. They knew that 
Namarah was ever a loving and solicitous daughter, 
but it was not uncommon for her father to be away 
and in danger, and this was something more than 
her usual concern for him. She had lost heart in 
her work, also, and cared no longer for the amuse- 
ments and pastimes with which it had formerly 
been her wont to occupy herself. But, in spite of 
this, her interest was more tender than ever before 

[299] 



300 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


in those who were sick or in trouble, and she spent 
much time in prayer. 

Her chief amusement and diversion during this 
time were her doves, and sometimes, after feeding 
them, she would* place herself on the garden seat, 
and let them climb and flutter all about her, and 
take their food from her mouth and Angers, and 
even from the meshes of her hair. She had told 
to no one the secret of her heart, and these silent 
witnesses of her meetings with Adina seemed now 
the nearest thing to him that there remained to her. 

At length, one morning, when Namarah had 
grown paler than her wont, with long waiting and 
watching, she stood at the casement of her chamber, 
and her listless gaze that had been long fixed 
wearily upon the distant scene, became in a moment 
alert and animated. Far up in the blue she had 
seen a flying bird, and at that sight her heart within 
her always trembled. Perhaps it was a skylark, or 
even one of her own pets, wandered farther than its 
custom away from home. Yes, it was a dove — a 
snow-white carrier — and surely, one of her own, as 
there was none like them in that region. She had 
never known one of hers to fly so high as that be 
fore, and the throbbing of her heart grew violent, 
as she looked up and so it pausing and circling 
above her head. Surely she caught sight of a tiny 
object, not a feather, between its wing and breast, as 
the bird swooped downward and flew into the 
pigeon-house. 

With limbs that shook with hope and fear, Na- 
marah stole softly through the silent halls and 


J ephthali s Daughter, 


301 


chambers, down the garden-path and into the place 
where all her birds were together. They were 
cooing and muttering and gabbling as if something 
out of the common had happened to them, and 
when she paused in the doorway and called, they 
all came fluttering to her. One by one she touched 
them with her hands and felt beneath their wings. 
They were too exactly each like each to distinguish 
among them, but all of them came tamely to her 
call, it being her habit to stroke and smooth them 
as she would. Just as her heart began to sink 
with disappointment, she noticed one with broken 
feathers, and her fingers touched something smooth 
and hard, and lo, there was, indeed, the thing she 
sought — a tightly folded paper, tied with a small 
cord under the bird’s wing. Her hands trembled 
as she loosed it, and she hid it hurriedly in her 
bosom. Then she ran swiftly through the garden- 
paths, and back to her own room, where she shut 
herself in, and taking out the precious paper, pressed 
it to her lips and then fell upon her knees in prayer. 
She entreated God most earnestly that the tidings 
might be good ; her heart swelled with praises to 
His holy name, and her faith was strong in the 
answer to her prayers, as she opened the paper and 
.read. These were the words : 

Most Dear Maiden: It hath pleased the God of Israel 
to send the hosts of Jephthah, thy father, a complete and mighty 
victory, and we be, even now, upon our way to thee, returning 
in triumph and great thankfulness of heart. Thou will greet me 
ns thy chosen and sanctioned husband, Namarah, for thy father 
hath so commended my bearing in the fight, wherein I was able 


302 


J epk thah 's Da iigh ter. 


to render him good service, that he hath promised me that I 
shall choose my own reward, and I have chosen even the maiden 
Namarah to be my wife. I have even so spoken to thy father, 
feeling sure that at that moment he would not say nm nay, and 
he hath even given me his blessing, and avowed that I have 
found favor in his eyes. Thy white bird will bear to thee those 
tidings, and before set of sun we shall be with thee. God grant 
to me, O maiden, that thy heart may reach forth to mine with 
the same love wherewith I feel mine reach to thee, as I write 
these lines, to be held in thy dear hands beneath thy dear eyes. 

‘‘Thy Adina.” 

Now, as the maiden Namarah read these words, 
there rose within her so great a rapture that her 
very face did glow and become radiant with joy. 
For until her eyes had rested on the young man 
Adina, she had known not what it was to feel the 
mighty love wherewith a tender virgin loveth, with 
her soul and heart at once, the youth whose noble- 
ness and virtue command her worship and devotion, 
and the exceeding joy of this moment wrapped her 
soul in a great wave of ecstasy, that make the shin- 
ing of her eyes like unto the light of stars. To feel 
that Adina loved her, he who was unto her eyes the 
very prince of men, and that her well-beloved father 
looked with favor on their union was a bliss so 
great, that almost she felt as if her heart within her 
must burst for very joy. As she sat in her chamber 
alone, and read again and yet again the precious 
message that the bird had brought, such visions as 
ever fill the minds of maidens when love is come 
in truth passed like pictures before her. She saw 
herself meeting with Adina without the need of 
concealment, and she felt again those arms about 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


303 


her and those kisses on her lips, at the mere mem- 
ory of which she thrilled. vShe saw the calm de- 
light upon her beloved father’s face, as he blessed 
her union with Adina, and gazing further yet into 
the future, she saw herself the happy wife and 
mother, with a wondrous babe to lay into her 
father’s arms, a babe who might perhaps be the one 
that was to make her first and most glorious among 
women. 

Already she felt herself the happiest and the 
proudest, and the God who had created in her 
breast this miracle of joy might deign perhaps to 
give her the supreme glory for which all the 
maidens of Israel looked, and in view of which they 
strove to keep them pure and true and holy unto 
the Lord. 

Now when the sun began to sink toward the 
West, Namarah called to her maidens, and arrayed 
herself in garments richly wrought and beautiful, 
as one that keepeth a great feast. Her robe was all 
of white, embroidered with gold, and the encrusted 
folds fell heavily about the splendid curves of her 
most noble figure. In her loosened hair were 
twisted chains of gold that wrapped it in and out, 
and made a light and darkness beautiful to see. 
About her shoulders, which her robe left bare, she 
wrapped a scarf of golden tissue, through which 
her gleaming neck and arms shone fair as moon- 
light seen through sunbeams. 

And when the maidens and all the household of 
Jephthah wondered to see her so adorned, she 
spake, and said unto them : 


304 


Jephthah' s Daughter. 


“ I go to meet my father Jephthah and his host 
returning from victory.” 

And when they asked her : 

“ How knowest thou that he hath won the day, 
and is returning?” 

She made answer, as the saying was : 

“ A little bird hath told me.” 

And they knew not how true indeed were the 
words she spake. 

And as the sun sank lower and it began to draw 
toward evening, behold, there fell upon the ears of 
Namarah and her maidens the distant sound of 
tramping horses and anon the notes of a trumpet. 

“They be notes of victory, even as thou hast 
said,” spake one of the maidens, while Namarah 
stood and listened, breathless and half troubled, 
like an image of too perfect joy. And Namarah 
said : 

“ I will even go forth to meet them.” 

Whereat her maidens wondered, for it was her 
custom to await her father within the house, a feel- 
ing of timidity ever preventing her from appearing 
before the eyes of the soldiers. But now there 
showed in all her bearing a very noble pride, so 
that she looked no longer a shy^ and trembling 
maiden, but a woman and the daughter of a con- 
queror. There was a most rich hue of roses on her 
cheeks, and her great eyes blazed and sparkled, so 
that Namarah looked that day a being of such 
glorious beauty as none who looked on her had 
ever seen before. 

Now, as the host of Jephthah marched down the 


JephthaJi s Dmightei\ 


305 


streets of Mizpeh, while all along the people cheerecl 
and shouted as they passed, behold at Jephthah’s 
side, in front of them, there rode the young man 
Adina, and not behind, as was his wont. And by 
this token all the people knew that he had won 
glory for himself in battle, and that Jephthah 
strove thus to vshow the favor which he had toward 
him, and with the noise of their shoutings, “ Long 
live Jephthah, the Gileadite !” were mingled cries 
of “ Long live Adina!” 

And as these sounds came even to the ears of 
Namarah, behold the flush upon her cheeks grew 
deeper and her eyes yet more glorious. And ever 
the soldiery pressed onward, followed by the shouts 
of triumph from the crowd. And Jephthah, the 
mighty captain, rode a night-black charger, while 
that of Adina was white as milk. Both men were 
clad in gleaming armor, on which the rays of the 
setting sun made blazes of vivid fire, gilding the 
silver of the old man’s beard, and .burnishing 
the gold of Adina’s thick curls, which seemed a part 
of his shining helmet. And ever, as they rode, the 
eyes of both were turned toward the house of Jeph- 
thah, for Jephthah had vowed a vow unto the Lord, 
and had said : “ If Thou shalt without fail deliver 
the children of Ammon into my hands, then it 
shall be that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors 
of my house to meet me, when I return in peace 
from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the 
Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering.” 
And he looked to see what it should be. 

But the young man Adina, who knew not of Jeph- 


,3o6 


Jeplithah's Daughter. 


thah’s vow, and had said naught of the tidings sent 
to Namarah by the carrier-bird — that being a secret 
between the maiden and himself — knew that Na-. 
marah would be prepared for their coming, and 
rightly thought that she would come to meet them. 

And now, as they began to come nigh to the 
house, behold, the great doors were thrown open, 
and forth there came the maiden Namarah, clad all 
in white and gold, and after her her maidens, with 
timbrels and dances. But Namarah came first, 
with her head erect and all her face made glorious 
with joy. The childish timidity she was wont to show 
had vanished now, and she faced the band of sol- 
diery a royal princess in her bearing. She felt 
herself a queen, indeed, for happy love had crowned 
her. 

And as she came, behold the two men who were 
at the head of the great host drew rein and sud- 
denly checked their horses, and all the soldiery 
halted. All eyes were on the beauteous face of the 
majestic maiden, hers only seeing the two faces of 
the men who led the host. 

Her gaze sought first the face of Adina, with a 
treacherous fealty which she could not control, and 
as their looks met thus, behold the joyousness of his 
heart gleamed forth into his eyes, which met hers, 
with a look that thrilled her soul with rapture. For 
a moment she was blinded with ecstasy, and saw 
naught before her but light, supreme, bewildering ; 
and then, with the reflection of that light upon her 
face, she turned her raptured gaze upon her father, 
and suddenly the great light became a great dark- 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


307 


ness, which likewise cast its reflection upon her ; 
for the face of Jephthah her father was as the face 
of a man in mortal throes, and behold the hand that 
held the bridle shook and fell, and his body swerved 
in the saddle, so that he would have fallen but that 
the young man Adina, seeing the maiden’s sudden 
change of countenance had looked toward its source, 
and was just in time to put out his hand and stay 
Jephthah in his place. 

Then Adina dismounted and ;ran to Jephtha ’s 
side, and while the maiden Namarah herself laid 
hold on the bridle of his horse, the young man 
assisted him to the ground, and with Namarah ’s 
help led him into the house. The eyes which had 
but lately looked such joy into each other, ex- 
changed now looks of pain and horror, for it 
was quickly passed from mouth to mouth that 
the great captain had been seized with mortal ill- 
ness, and that the joy of his victorious return and 
meeting with his daughter was like to cost him his life. 

But Jephthah, when he heard these words, denied 
and said : 

“ It is not as ye say, O men of Israel; neverthe- 
less the hand of the Lord is heavy upon me this 
day. Cause to go out from me all save the maiden 
Namarah and the young man Adina.” 

And when they had so done, behold Jephthah 
rent his clothes, and said : 

“ Alas ! my daughter ; thou hast brought me very 
low ; and thou art one of them that trouble me ; for 
I have opened m}^ mouth unto the Lord, and I can- 
not go back !” 


3o8 


Jephthati s Daughter. 


And Namarah said unto him : 

“ My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto 
the Lord, do to me according to that which hath 
proceeded out of thy mouth ; forasmuch as the 
Lord hath taken vengeance for thee of thine ene- 
mies, even the children of Ammon.” 

So spake she, and her voice was firm and clear, 
but her face went deadly pale, even as the face of 
the young man Adina put on a ghastly pallor ; and 
as he stood before.her in his shining armor a great 
trembling seized him, so that his armor shook and 
sounded. And as she looked on him and saw his 
grief, behold her heart bled for him, and for all the 
visions of her happy love ; and she turned to him 
and threw her arms about his neck. And Adina 
clasped her to him, careful not to hurt her tender 
body against his mail-clad breast, and it seemed 
unto them both that the barrier that had come so 
suddenly between their two souls was even as this 
barrier between their bodies — hard and cruel and 
impassable. But there was no barrier between their 
lips, and as they softly touched and trembled on 
each other, they knew not whether that moment’s 
ecstasy was of pain or joy. 

And Jephthah sat and gazed on them, and as he 
looked he was no longer the mighty man of valor, 
but a creature sore stricken, so that his hands 
shook for very weakness, and feeble and impotent 
tears fell down upon his beard and trickled to his 
armor, while his face was changed and piteous to 
behold, and he looked, all at once, an aged man. 

Turning her eyes toward him, and seeing him in 


Jephthali s Daughter, 


309 


such unhappy case, Namarah slipped from her 
lover’s arms, and went and knelt beside her father, 
circling his neck with her tender arms, and calling 
him all manner of caressing names, while she kissed 
him with deep lovingness on his forehead, his 
cheeks and his lips. Then did she loosen his heavy 
armor, and remove each piece in turn, beseeching 
him to take comfort, and avowing toward him an 
^affection more fervent and dutiful than even she 
had shown him in the past. But Adina spake no 
word either with or against her, but stood where 
she had left him, with his right hand holding the 
elbow of his left arm, which was raised toward his 
face, his chin sunk in his palm. He was still in 
complete armor, only he had removed his helmet, 
so that his sunny curls were uncovered. Right 
goodly to look upon he was, in the majesty of his 
stalwart youth, but his ruddy skin was ashen white, 
and in the great blue eyes, which had so lately 
glowed with- so luminous a love-light, there was 
now the shadow of great despair. And ever his 
eyes were fixed upon the maiden, following each 
movement that she made, and the hunger of his 
soul was in them. 

When Jephthah, at her bidding stood up, that 
Namarah might lift from him the weight of his 
heavy armor, he turned and looked upon Adina, 
and a great cry brake from him, and he sank back- 
ward into his seat and covered his face with his 
hands. But Namarah bent above him and drew 
away his hands, kneeling on her knees before him, 
and holding them in both her own. 


310 


Jephthalis Daughter, 


“ Nay, grieve thee not, my father,” she said, ten- 
derly. “ Let it be done to me according as thou 
hast vowed unto the Lord. Hath he not given thee 
to me, and me to thee, and can He not have back 
His own ? His favor hath been graciously bestowed 
upon us on every side, seeing that He hath even 
given me my very heart’s desires in all things 
wherein I have desired. Be comforted, my father. 
I have rendered unto Him nothing for all His gifts 
to me ; and if my life be vowed to Him, I give Him 
but His own.” 

“ Thy life is mine, and vowed to me !” burst forth 
Adina, hotly, taking a step toward her, as if he 
would wrest her from her father. But the compel- 
ling eyes of the maiden Namarah arrested him, and 
he turned, and began to pace the apartment with 
the angry vStrides of a caged beast. 

“ Ah, woe, my daughter,” Jephthah spake, “ that 
thy father, who hath so loved thee, should bring 
thee now such hurt. It had pleased me well that 
thou shouldest wed Adina and bear him sons and 
daughters, and it had even rejoiced my soul to 
think that perhaps of thy pure body should be born 
the deliverer of thy people Israel. It was but the 
morning of this day on which I dreamed these 
dreams, and to what are they come? Alas, my 
daughter, why earnest thou forth to meet me, so 
contrary to thy wont and usage ? Thou wast ever 
affrighted before the soldiery and held backward 
when they came about the door.” 

“ I was even bold and fearless, my father, against 
my usual wont, because that love had made me so, 


JephthaJi s Datcghter. 


3ii 


and in the presence of my lord, Adina, I had but 
one fear only, lest I might fail of my honor to him 
—who knew not my ways as thou knewest them — 
and appear unloving and ungracious in his eyes. 

At these words Adina’s motions grew more gen- 
tle and he checked him in his walk, and came and 
stood near by, his chin sunk in his palm, as before, 
and his eyes, with a most mighty tenderness in 
them, bent upon Namarah. 

“ But, how knewest thou, my daughter, that the 
victory was won and thy father’s host returning, 
seeing I sent no messenger before me, but made 
haste myself to bring thee tidings ?” 

Then Namarah turned her fair face upward, and 
said : 

“ Adina, speak. Let it be known unto Jephthah, 
my father, that the thing that is come upon us was 
partly of our own doing — thine and mine.” 

Then Adina, softened, mayhap, by the sight of 
the old man’s suffering, and more yet by the noble- 
ness and submission of Namarah ’s spirit, answered, 
and said : 

“ These words be true, O Jephthah, for it was 
even I that sent unto the maiden tidings, by which 
she gained the knowledge of our approach.” 

“ But how sentedst thou these tidings,” said Jeph- 
thah, “ seeing that I gave thee no leave to take a 
messenger ?” 

“ Therein the fault was mine,” Namarah said, 
“ if fault there be — for, were it not the will of God, 
naught that was done or is to be were possible — 
seeing that I gave unto Adina one of my carrier- 


312 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


birds, to send me word of thy triumph and return, 
and the bird, in truth, brought me the tidings this 
morning. Seest thou not then therefore, oh, my 
father, that this thing that is befallen us was to be ? 
Surely there is a God that ruleth over all the earth, 
and shall He not do right ? Let us but be true to 
what we owe to Him — thou and I and Adina — and 
be sure that no harm shall come to us. Faithful is 
He that hath promised, and He will deliver us.” 

Then Jephthah bowed his head upon his hands 
and uttered a mighty groan. 

“ How sayest thou, my daughter, that we shall be 
delivered ? Knowest thou not that according to my 
vow thou must be offered a burnt sacrifice ?” 

As he spake these awful words, the maiden’s face 
grew whiter still, though the courage of her eyes 
faltered not, and through all the body of the young 
man Adina there ran a great shiver that again 
made to shake his armor that it rattled and sounded, 
seeing which, Namarah rose and ran to him, fear- 
ing lest he might even fall to the ground, so greatly 
he tottered and trembled. Taking him by the 
hand, she led him to a place beside her father and 
gently pressed him to a seat, while she herself sank 
back upon her knees before them, holding a hand 
of each, and as she lifted up her head and looked at 
them, it seemed unto the father and the lover both 
that her face was as the face of an angel. 

“ Hearken to me, O thou to whom my soul best 
loveth,” said Namarah, “ for there is a voice within 
me that seemeth to me to speak for God Himself, 
and that most dread and sacred voice saith to me 


Jephthali s Daughter. 313 


what it shall comfort thee to hear. ‘ I will deliver 
thee,’ the voice crieth continually, and shall we not 
believe this Heavenly voice ? It may be that de- 
liverance, as thou dost think of it, is not to be, and 
that God will even require of thee, oh my father, 
the strict fulfillment of thy vow, but He hath ways 
we know not of, and is He not the God that heareth 
prayer? Let us therefore be comforted, and take 
courage and pray unto Him continually for deliver- 
ance from the terror wherewith we are affrighted. 
For what is it that thy soul feareth O Adina, and O 
Jephthah my father? Is it not even the thought of 
parting? Surely, the most High God liveth forever, 
eternal in the Heavens, and surely our love is of 
God, and therefore cannot die ; the love wherewith 
my soul is knit to thine, my father, and to thine 
Adina, the husband of my choice. Though I saw 
the altar made ready before my very eyes, and 
though I felt the flames of its fires about me, yet 
would I falter not ; for God, from whom I spared 
not to deliver my body to be burned, will surely re- 
deem my spirit — a thing imperishable as Himself ; 
and neither will He withhold from me the desire 
of my soul, seeing that I wish in all things to serve 
Him with all my soul and mind and strength.” 

As Namarah spake these words, the spirits of the 
men who listened to her grew suddenly more calm, 
and the faith and courage with which her own 
heart was animated seemed to be in some sense im- 
parted to them, so that Jephthah turned unto Adina, 
and spake unto him in these words : 

“ Let not thy soul within thee hate me, O Adina, 


314 JephtJiuli s Daughter, 


for my heart is sad even unto death. Forgive me 
the harm that I have done unto thee through ignor- 
ance, and let it be with us both even according unto 
the words that this maiden hath spoken, and let us 
take comfort and have hope that the God of power 
will indeed deliver us in this our hour of greatest 
need. Let us together pray continually for the de- 
liverance that she feeleth to be in store for us.” 

And Adina answered, and said : 

‘‘ It shall be as thou sayest, O Jephthah, and the 
God of power hear our prayers.” 

Then Jephthah caused him that he knelt in front 
of him, at the side of the maiden Namarah, and as 
they rested so, Jephthah lifted up his hands, and 
blessed them there in the name of the God of 
Israel. And as their heads were bowed together, 
the short golden curls of the man beside the long, 
dark tresses of the maiden, Jephthah rose, and softly 
left them ; and when they lifted up their heads, be- 
hold they were alone. 

Then the face of each turned to each, and long 
time they gazed into each other’s eyes, as though 
their very souls were bared unto each other. Then 
silently their arms entwined, and softly their lips 
met and pressed and clung ; and so rested they, still 
upon their knees, for the moment was sacred at 
once to love and to death. The thought of what 
was to come was in the heart of each, and cast 
around them a great awe that seemed to wrap them 
in ; but even over this their pure love triumphed, 
and the man and the maiden were shown therein 
the truth of Namarah’s words, that a love that is of 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


315 


God is stronger than death, and even, also, as un- 
dying as God himself. 

Then Adina lifted up his voice and prayed this 
prayer unto the Lord : 

“ Almighty God, most Holy One, whose nature is 
love, and whose life is eternal, grant unto us. Thy 
servants, eternal life in love. Seeing that the love 
wherewith we love each other is of Thee, let it 
burn forever, a most pure and holy fire, lighted by 
Thee on earth, to be a light forever before Thy 
throne in Heaven. Look into the hearts of these 
Thy servants, O most sure and searching Eye, and 
behold and see the love wherewith Thy servant 
and Thy handmaid love each other, in Thee. Thou 
knowest that Heaven gave it birth, in the presence 
of Thy glory, and lent it for a while to earth ; but 
earth, with all its unpureness, hath been harmless 
to dim the luster of its pure, white flame, so that it 
shall return to Thee without spot or blemish, or 
any such thing. Pure fire of God, live ever in our 
hearts, binding us here below by this bright chain 
to Heaven above, where all is brightness, in the 
presence of The Light. And as the love that burns 
within Thy servant’s heart meeteth the love that 
burns within the heart of Thy handmaid, and these 
be welded in a sacred kiss, let the bright flame of 
these united fires rise up to Thee, an emanation 
from Thy love returned to Thee, who art all love. 

“ Behold us, O Almighty Love, and bless us, Thy 
servant and thy handmaid, and in Thy now good 
time and way cause to compass us around about the 
arms of Thy mighty deliverance. Amen.” 


3 1 6 J epJitha h 's Da tighter. 


And Namarah, in her gentle voice, which the 
words of Adina’s prayer made now to tremble, an- 
swered even also, “ Amen.” 

After that they gat them to their feet and went 
in search of the maiden’s father Jephthah, that they 
might speak unto him cheering words and comfort 
him with the comfort wherewith their souls within 
them had been comforted. 

And Namarah spoke unto her father Jephthah, 
and said : 

“ Let this thing be done for me : let me alone two 
months, that I may go up and down upon the moun- 
tains, and bewail my virginity, I and my fellows.” 

And he said : 

“ Go. ” 

And after this, behold, the face of the maiden 
was no longer sorrowful, but ever there beamed 
forth from it a most calm and shining light that 
even comforted the hearts of all who gazed on her. 
Sometimes it happened that Jephthah, her father 
and the young man Adina would look anxious and 
worn with care, but Namarah would bid them then 
to go and pray to God that their faith fail not, so 
that they might not miss the reward prepared of 
God for those who believe and trust Him to the ut- 
most. And even as they prayed their hearts were 
comforted and their spirits strengthened. 

On the evening of the return from battle of the 
hosts of Jephthah, the Gileadite, Namarah went, as 
was her wont, to feed her doves, and, as she stood 
among them, more white than was the gown she 
wore, there came to her, down the garden -walk, 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


317 


through the parted branches of the trees, the young 
man Adina. 

Now, Namarah knew that he would come, even 
at this time and place, but her heart within her 
trembled, and the color was not so far gone from 
out her cheek but that his coming called it back, 
like to a rose in bloom. 

Adina, who had rested from his travelling and 
refreshed himself, was clad this evening, like 
Namarah, all in white, in a stately robe that swathed 
his stalwart body from the shoulder to the sandals 
on his feet. His beautiful strong young arms were 
hid beneath its folds, until, as he came up to where 
the maiden stood, he reached them out and folded 
her tenderly and strongly against his breast. 

“ Hurt not the bird, Adina,” she said, lowly, as 
he held her there and knew not to distinguish be- 
tween the fluttering of the dove and the beating of 
the maiden’s heart. “ It is even thy little messen- 
ger, which did company thee upon thy dangerous 
wanderings and bring me the message of thy heart 
to mine.” 

“ How knowest thou it is the same, Namarah,” 
he made answer, “ seeing that these snow-white 
birds of thine are like as be garden-lilies ?” And 
as he spake, he held her still with one strong arm, 
while the other hand he laid above her little one 
that gently smoothed the ruffled plumage of the 
frightened bird. 

“ I knew it even by its travel-stains and by its 
broken feathers. See, the birdling hath e’en suf- 
fered in our service,” and, as she spake, she lifted 


Jeph thah V Da ugh ter. 


318 


it and kissed it tenderly, at which Adina swiftly 
bent his tall head and kissed the very spot whereon 
her lips had lain upon the bird, saying as he did so : 

“ Thy kisses are all mine, Namarah, and I must 
even take back the one that thou hast given to the 
bird. It was ill done of thee to bestow it on another 
than him to whom it doth by right belong. Re- 
lease the bird that hath too long engaged the 
touches of thy hands, for these be mine also, and 
to-night I long for all thy love, seeing that my 
heart within me is like to burst with sorrow.” 

Then Namarah swiftly loosed the bird, which 
flew away and vanished from their sight, even as 
the maiden threw her arms about her lover’s neck 
and yielded herself to his most sweet embrace. 

“ I pray thee sorrow not, Adina, my beloved.” 
She spake low. “ Thine am I for eternity, and 
Heaven’s joys can never end. Wilt thou not strive 
to give me strength to do the thing that lies before 
me ? Pray to God for courage for both thee and 
me, for love is sweet, and death seems cruel.” 

“ Ay, death is cruel, cruel !” made answer Adina, 
while that his brow grew stern, and the very hands 
that were about her soft young body clinched as if 
in anger. 

“ Now, may God forgive me,” said Namarah, “ for 
the evil word I spake. It even passed the door of 
my lips without mine own consent. Our God is 
good, Adina, and if we dishonor Him not, by doubt 
of His goodness and rebellion to His will. He will 
most likely deliver us both ; and if it pleaseth Him 
to take my spirit back to Him who gave it, and so 


Jephthah! s Daughter. 


319 


leave thee here upon the earth, will it seem too 
hard a thing- to wait with patience until the hour of 
thy release from earth and flesh shall come, when 
thy spirit shall again meet mine ?” 

“ Too hard a thing, Namarah ! I could wait till 
eternity were ended sooner than I could love any 
other maiden than thee !” 

“Ah, sweet, sweet is thy love and loyalty be- 
loved !“ saith Namarah ; “ and my heart is even 
warmed and comforted to hear thee speak those 
words. Nevertheless, there is a thing I would have 
thee remember. If it should be, when I am dead, 
that thou shouldst ever love another maiden — for 
thou art young, and there be others worthy of thy 
love, and life alone is long and sad — I would not 
have thee live unwed because of me. If thou 
choosest to marry thou hast my full consent, and 
even my blessing from Heaven.” 

But at her words the young man thrust her from 
him almost roughly, and turned on her the first un- 
gentle look his face had ever worn to her. 

“ Thou art unkind and cruel unto me, Namarah,” 
he said, “ and thy love is not like to mine for thee, 
or thou couldst not think possible the thing whereof 
thou speakest. The soul of Adina slept within him 
until, at touch of thy soul, it waked ; and it lives but 
for thee alone. If thou must die, and God sees 
good to prolong my days in the land, whereby He 
will visit upon me a curse instead of a blessing, my 
life belongs to thee ; the desire of my heart will be 
still to thee alone, and my soul shall even wait for 
thy soul.” 


320 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


Then Namarah came again into his arms, and 
while they clasped her close with love’s true tender- 
ness, behold the maiden began softly to weep. 

“ God reward thee, dear one,” she murmured, as 
her lips rested close against his throat, “ for the 
comfort wherewith thou hast comforted me. I am 
even satisfied to die to-night, knowing a love like 
thine. If it please God that I die and thou livest, 
I beseech thee that thou wilt be even as a son unto 
my father Jephthah, for his heart is broken within 
him, and by reason of his vow he giveth up his 
only child.” 

“ That will I maiden,” saith Adina ; “ and if so 
be that I shall live and thou diest, that will even be 
my work in life. Ah, Namarah, my most holy and 
most beauteous love, hast thou thought upon the 
weariness and darkness of the life that I will lead 
without thee, even through youth and manhood 
and old age ?” 

“Yea, beloved, I have thought of it,” she 
answered — “ be sure that I have thought of it— 
with a heart made wild with anguish, and it 
seemeth unto me that thy fate is even a harder one 
than mine. But now that we have spoken of these 
things, and thou knowest my thoughts and wishes 
concerning thy life, if thou art left to live it 
out without me, let us speak of it no more, and 
let us even, so far as in us lies, banish it from our 
thoughts. I would have thee give me a solemn 
pledge that when I depart on the morrow, I, and 
the maidens that be my companions, thou wilt 
pray continually unto God, as I shall do, this prayer 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


321 


— even that he will send unto us deliverance. He 
hath ever heard the prayers of His people who cry 
unto Him with faith, and I will that thou pray 
only this — for deliverance out of all our troubles 
for me and thee in His own good time and way. I 
feel full confidence that He will, hear our prayer, 
but concerning the means and the time, I will not 
even have a wish, seeing that wisdom no less than 
power is His. Our hearts are bare before His 
sight, and as He readeth mine He seeth that it sor- 
roweth far more than thee and thy sufferings than 
for mine own, and he can send, both unto thee and 
me, the rescue that our souls most earnCvStly desire. 
Let us, therefore, spend the two months left to me 
of earth, in praying thus to the God of power and 
pity. Kneel with me now, Adina, and let us pray 
this prayer, even in the silence of our hearts.” 

And side by side, upon the grass beneath the 
white light of the moon, they knelt together, hand 
in hand, and lifted up their hearts in prayer. So 
still and silent was the night that the little brook 
which ran through the garden, down at the foot of 
the hill, could be heard gurgling over its stones, 
and the notes of the doves in their house near by 
sounded mournfully and pleadingly in their ears. 
The soft wind of the summer night played lightly 
over their bowed heads, ruffling Adina’s golden 
curls and blowing against his throat a long tress of 
Namarah’s silky hair. Long time they knelt there, 
their bodies touching only in that close hand-clasp, 
but their souls fused into one, on the breath of that 
fervent prayer. 


322 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


When they rose from their knees and stood erect 
in the pale moonlight, both so tall and young and 
beautiful in their fair white raiment, they turned 
and wound their arms around each other in an em- 
brace of unspeakable love. Again the night lay 
wrapped in silence, so that even the softness of 
their kisses could be heard. Suddenly there was a 
fluttering above them, and a white bird flew down 
and alighted in the soft hollow made by their two 
throats. There it nestled, with a little plaintive 
moan. As the young man and the maiden strove 
each to touch and soothe its ruffled feathers, their 
two hands met and clasped. 

‘‘ It is the little messenger,” said Namarah, as the 
bird crept closer to the warmth of their necks, be- 
tween the arch made by their close-pressed cheeks. 
“ It seemeth to be restless and unhappy. There 
was one of my doves killed by a hawk one day, 
while this messenger was gone with thee. Think- 
est thou it could have been its mate? I saw the 
great hawk swoop down upon it one day, as it sat 
alone apart from all the rest, and before I could run 
to its rescue, the poor little thing had been carried 
off in those cruel claws. Thou knowest — dost thou 
not? — that the dove is the image of constancy, and 
that when it once loses its mate it takes none other 
evermore.” 

“ Even as it shall be with me,” breathed forth 
Adina, amid the kisses that he pressed upon her 
hair. “ If it please God that I lose the mate where- 
unto my soul is already wed, so will I live lonely 
like the mateless bird, until mine end shall come.” 


Jephthali s Daughter. 


323 


“ So that our faith fail not, it will please God to de- 
liver us,’* Namarah made answer ; ‘‘and He hath ways 
and means of mercy beyond our power to know. 
Henceforth be our watchword ‘ Trust,’ Adina, and let 
not these saddening fears be spoken upon our lips.” 

Then, while the bird still rested between them, 
they clasped each other closer yet, for with the ris- 
ing of the sun to-morrow Namarah and her maidens 
were to set forth unto the mountains, and this was 
their hour of parting. 

Long time they rested there alone, after the bird 
had fluttered off to its house, and ever the sound of 
its sad complaining came unto their ears. 

“ It shall be my companion while that thou art 
gone,” said Adina, “and at night I will take it with 
me, so that its mourning shall be made against the 
warmth of my heart, that hath no voice wherewith 
to utter the greatness of its woe.” 

“ Nevertheless, I shall hear its complainings even 
with the ears of my soul,” said Namarah, “and my 
heart shall answer them, in sounds inaudible that thy 
listening soul may hear. And now must I leave thee, 
beloved, for my father waiteth for our parting to be 
over, that he may even speak with me himself.” 

They kissed and clasped and clung, and spake to 
each other with such holy words of love as pen may 
not record. They were even in the very presence 
of death, and God and His angels seemed to look 
down upon them, from out the opened heavens, for 
their love was pure and sanctified as the loves of 
the angels be, and upon its very front was written : 
“ Holiness unto the Lord.” 



CHAPTER III. 

At break of day next morning, Namarah, accom 
panied by her maidens, dressed all in sad garments 
of mourning, passed through the streets of Mizpeh 
and wended their way toward the mountains, and, 
as they passed along, behold the people came forth 
of their houses to look upon them, and ever as they 
saw the maidens, in their sackcloth and ashes, men 
and women, and even little children, lifted up their 
voices and wept, for the vow that Jephthah had 
vowed unto the Lord was known unto all the people ; 
also that the maiden Namarah was gone, according 
unto the custom of the daughters of Israel, to be- 
wail upon the mountains with the maidens, her 
companions, that the Lord had seen fit to take away 
from her the glory of motherhood and the hope 
that to her might come the honor of giving birth 
unto the deliverer of Israel. 

And as the maidens walked with sad and meas- 
ured steps, the maiden Namarah walked ever at 
their head, her stately height and noble form 
swathed in sackcloth. And, although the hood of 
her mantle hid her face from view, the people said 
[324] 



JephthaJi s Daughter. 


325 


she sobbed in passing, because that they saw the 
fluttering rise and fall of her breast beneath the 
folds of her gown. 

But Namarah was not weeping. Her brow was 
calm and solemn, and her great eyes serene as be 
stars. Her vigil had made her pale as the ashes where- 
with she had sprinkled her garments, but the look of 
her face was strong and confident, and ever she whis- 
pered in the silence of her heart “ He will deliver.” 

As the town was left behind, and the rugged 
mountain path up which they were to wend their 
toilsome way was come in view, Namarah paused, 
and the maidens who followed, pausing also, saw 
her part the folds of her garment and take there- 
from the messenger-dove which had already served 
so faithfully. She spake no word, neither looked 
she to the right nor the left, while all the maidens 
wondered, but lifting it to her lips she gently kissed 
it, then raising her arm above her head she held it 
on her open palm, giving it a little impulse upward, 
at which it spread its wings and flew, with a sure 
and steady flight backward along the path that they 
had come. Namarah stood and looked at it until 
the whiteness of its feathers was even one with the 
whiteness of the clouds, and then she turned about 
and began to climb the mountain-path, her maidens 
following. Then were there tears in her eyes, in 
that moment, which overflowed and fell upon her 
cheek, but no eye there was that saw them save the 
Eye that seeth all. 

Now, the young man Adina, having spent the 
night in ceaseless vigil also, was at the casement of 


326 


Jephthah's Daughter. 


his window, before the earliest streak of dawn, his 
life-blood throbbing to the thought that he was to 
see once more the form of her whom his soul so 
greatly loved, albeit speech and touch would be 
denied him. It had been the maiden’s wish that 
she might not see him on this fateful morning, lest 
that the sight of his unhappiness might cause her 
courage to give way. Still it was known to her the 
house wherein he dwelt, and he waited with his 
soul athirst, to see her make to him some sign of 
parting as she passed beneath the casement of his 
window. The blood flew surging to his heart as 
the group of maidens came in sight, their mourning 
garments rosied o’er by the glory of the rising sun, 
and their approach heralded by the wailings of the 
people who lined the streets on either side. His 
face went deadly white, and he was fain to clutch 
with both his hands at the casement of the window 
to keep from falling back. 

Onward she moved toward him, the form that he 
was wont to fondle in his arms screened from his 
loving eyes by those harsh draperies from which 
the ashes fell, as the morning breezes played about 
her. He was screened from view behind a curtain, 
but the resolution rushed upon him, that if she 
turned and looked, for even one instant upward, he 
would throw the curtain back and look at her, that 
she might see the mighty love-light in his face, and 
the compassion wherewith he pitied her. Strong 
man as he was it was a bitter thing to bear that she 
should go onward to suffering and death, and he 
stand by, in bodily safety, and see it. 


Jephthaiis Daughter. 


327 


But Namarah looked not up, and as she passed 
beneath his window, her sweet head was bent for- 
ward, and she walked on calmly and as if in total 
unconsciousness of the dying heart that beat so 
near her. It seemed to him to be a cruel thing, 
untender and unthoughtful, and Adina rent his 
clothes, and turned away from the window with 
great groans of anguish that made one with the 
wailings of the people in the streets. It almost 
seemed to him as though he were nothing to her — 
as though she loved him not, and thought no more 
of him and of his love and woe. He paced the 
room, with the long strides of an angry beast, and 
ever and anon great sobs, that brought with them 
no soothing tears, shook mightily his strong young 
breast. And he smote his hands together and cried 
aloud to God to spare. All the day he spent alone, 
in the anguish of his stricken heart, fearing to go 
even unto Jephthah, knowing that his presence 
could be no comfort while that his grief so mastered 
him ; but when evening was come he crept from 
the house, unseen of any, and went silently to the 
garden of Jephthah ’s house, that he might once 
more be in the place that had seen him so happy in 
the presence of his soul’s love. Still and deserted 
was the garden, and the wan moon looked down to- 
night with the same cold face that she had turned 
upon the far different scene of last night. Adina 
wandered here and there among the trees, but ever 
he came back to the dear spot where lately he had 
stood with Namarah in his arms. The brook still 
babbled on, and the cooing of the doves came ever 


328 


Jephthali s Daughter. 


to his ears, as if to remind him that all was the 
same as before, save that Namarah was gone. 

Resting his two arms against the trunk of a great 
tree, he laid his face upon them, shutting out the 
beautiful garden-scene, in which the maiden was 
not, and there he rested long in exceeding bitter- 
ness of spirit. Suddenly there was a sound of 
wings, and again the bird which he could recognize 
by its broken and injured plumage flew down, and 
hovering above him a moment, as if in doubt, came 
and nestled on his shoulder. 

Adina took it softly in his hands, and turned his 
sad eyes silently toward the house where he lived 
alone. Even yet he had not the courage to go to 
Jephthah, but put it off until the morrow. As he 
walked along, ever smoothing the bird’s feathers 
with caressing touches, he suddenly became aware 
of something smooth and hard fastened beneath its 
wing. Instantly the thought occurred to him that 
it might be a message from Namarah ; but how, in- 
deed, could it be so ? Breathless with eagerness, he 
reached his chamber, and there found lights. 

Carefully shutting himself in, and even drawing 
the curtains of the windows close, he severed the 
cord that held in place the little folded note, and 
opening the sheet, read : 

“ Adina, my Beloved : I can give thee no greeting as I pass 
thy window, but I shall even then have close to my breast the 
dove which is to bear this my last message to thee. The mes- 
sage is but this, that thou hast heard so often : I love thee, my 
most dear one, and I charge thee, by that love, give not thyself 
to heavy grief, but ever take courage and have hope. If thou 
lovest me, I would have thee bear up with patience under the 


JephthaJis Daughter. 


329 


heavy burden God hath laid on thee, and to comfort my father 
Jephthah. Pray ever for deliverance for us both and have faith 
that God will hear thee. Sorrow not, beloved, seeing that I ever 
love thee, both in this life and that which is to come. Thine, 
who doth love thee truly, Namarah.” 

And underneath she had written the word 
“ Mizpeh.” 

In reading these lines, the soul of Adina was 
greatly comforted, so that he felt a new courage 
come to him, and ever thereafter, until the two 
months were come to an end, he bore himself pa- 
tiently and submissively and murmured no more 
at the will of God. Each day that dawned saw him 
beside the old man Jephthah, sustaining, comfort- 
ing and cherishing him, though, mayhap, his own 
heart was even at that same time sunk down with 
weariness. And ever he prayed to God most earn- 
estly both night and day that He would comfort the 
soul of Namarah and deliver them both in His good 
time. The words, as he would speak them, were 
beyond his comprehension, for he saw not how 
what he prayed for could come to pass, but he 
prayed on still in blind faith, and waited patiently 
to see how God would answer. 

And after he had brought the white dove home 
that night, it ever came to him afterward of its own 
accord, flying at sunset into his window and perch- 
ing there, if he was absent, until he returned, and 
often he would take it in his hands and talk to it, 
such words as his frozen heart refused to utter unto 
human ears, and ever it seemed to give him greater 
comfort than any human friend. 

As the two months of absence of the maiden 


330 


J ephthah 's Da ughte7\ 


Namarah began to draw to a close, the soul of 
Adina grew each hour more exceedingly sorrowful, 
and Jephthah also went heavily from morn till 
evening and took no comfort save in the presence 
and companionship of Adina, who was become to 
him even as his own son. And ever the prayers of 
each went up to God for the maiden Namarah, and 
Jephthah ’s prayer was ever that the Lord would 
strengthen her to endure the trial set before her, 
but the prayer of Adina was that blind cry for 
deliverance. 

And when the eve of the return of Namarah and 
her maidens was come, all the people, of Mizpeh 
were ware of it, but so great was their sorrow for 
the maiden, that they feared to look upon her face, 
and as, at set of sun the children playing in the 
streets brought news that the maidens were return- 
ing, behold, the people gat them to their houses, 
they and their children, that none might look upon 
Namarah in her misery and her affliction. 

And as Namarah and her maidens made their 
way along the streets of Mizpeh, behold, they made 
a picture sad to see, for their garments of sackcloth 
were torn and stained with their sojourn in the 
wildness of the mountains, and their feet were sore 
and weary, and as Namarah walked first among 
them, her companions uttered a low wailing of dis- 
tress. But the maiden herself was silent and made 
no sound, either with her voice or with the worn- 
out sandals of her feet, but ever moved noiselessly 
as a shadow, with bent head and hands clasped 
wearily. 


JephthaJi s Daughter, 


331 


No human creature did they wSee. The streets of 
Mizpeh were as uninhabited as were the mountain 
forests they had left, and a vast and solemn silence, 
more awful in this place of many habitations than 
in the open country, brooded over everything. 

As they moved along in slow procession, suddenly 
above their heads there was the sound of wings, and 
a flock of snow-white doves came downward from 
high in air, and, flying low, preceded them with 
slow and steady motions all up the empty streets. 
And as men or women here or there watched fur- 
tively from behind the drawn curtains of their win- 
dows, this most strange sight — the maidens in their 
mourning garments preceded by the flock of white 
doves — struck awe unto their hearts. And added 
to the sight there was a strange and awful sound, 
for even as the maidens crooned their low, sad wails, 
the doves from their flight in the air joined to the 
sound their plaintive cooing and complaining. 

To the other maidens it seemed as but an acci- 
dent that the birds should meet and join themselves 
to the procession ; but Namarah believed it not. 
Her heart told her that her tenderly loved birds 
had recognized her, and before she reached the 
door of her father's house one of them had even 
separated from its companions, and circling a mo- 
ment, as if in doubt, above her head, presently flew 
downward and alighted on her shoulder. Then did 
Namarah unclasp her hands and take it under her 
cloak and press it against the warmth of her heart ; 
and although the feathers of its wings had grown 
out again, and it was even smooth and shapely and 


332 


JephthaJi s Daughter. 


snow-white as the rest, she knew it to be the mes- 
senger between Adina and herself. Howbeit, she 
knew not that it had earned a stronger claim to her 
affection yet, in that it had been the chief com- 
panion and comfort of her lover during the long 
days and nights of her absence. 

And when Namarah and her maidens reached 
the house of Jephthah, behold it was hung with 
mourning, and though the doors were wide, there 
was neither friend nor servant to be seen. So Na- 
marah entered silently, and took her way toward 
the apartment of her father Jephthah ; and as she 
came unto his door, she turned and spake unto the 
maidens, bidding them stay without in the hall 
while she went in alone. 

And as she thrust open the door and came into 
the presence of her father Jephthah, behold he too 
was dressed in mourning garments, and he leaned 
upon the breast of the young man Adina, who was 
also clad in sackcloth ; and the faces of both men 
were white as be the faces of the dead ; and Adina 
had grown gaunt and hollow-cheeked and lost his 
ruddy color, while that her father Jephthah was as 
one grown old before his time. 

And Namarah spake no word, but shutting close 
the door behind her, she went and put her arms 
about the neck of her father, but her eyes she gave 
unto her lover. 

Her hood had fallen backward, and her white face 
rose from out its solemn mourning draperies as a 
fair flower springing out of earth ; and her eyes, 
made large and luminous through fastings and 


J ephthaJi s Daughter. 


333 


vigils, seemed as the very windows of her spirit ; 
and in their depth Adina read a love unspeakable, 
unquenchable and not to be surpassed. He under- 
stood her tender thought in clasping first her father 
before her touch sought his, for it was by reason of 
her father that this blow was come upon them, and 
she felt he had great need of comfort and the assur- 
ance of her deep, unchanged affection ; but in that 
long, deep look into her lover’s eyes, .she gave him 
her whole self — not only her arms and her lips, but 
the very core of her soul. vShe emptied herself of 
self that she might be wholly his. For a moment 
they rested in that look, quiet and calm as the deeps 
of ocean, and then the maiden spake : 

“ I pray thep leave me now, Adina,” she saith, 
softly, as the voice of Jephthah her father brake 
into great sobs while she smoothed his snow-white 
hair, and stilled him as a mother might her babe. 
“ I would be with him alone, that my courage fail 
not ; for he hath more need of comfort than either 
thou or I. Return to me an hour after moon-rise 
in the garden.” 

And Adina bowed his head and went, with never 
so much as a touch of her hand to feed the mighty 
hunger. of his love, howbeit that look in her eyes 
which rested on him still, even as he left her pres- 
ence, was as a draught divine wherewith the thirst 
of his soul might be quenched. 

Even before the coming of the time appointed, 
just as the moon was coming up behind the distant 
horizon, Adina made his silent way into the garden 
of Jephthah’s house, and stood and waited. The 


334 


JephthaUs Daughter. 


hour of moonrise was just what it had been two 
months before, on the night of their parting here, 
and in his ears were the same sounds of the bab- 
bling brook and .of the doves in their house near 
by. Up and down the young man paced, his 
thumbs thrust into the belt wherewith his white 
tunic was held in place, and his whole body tense 
and strained with the mightiness of his hardly mas- 
tered excitement. A light glimmered in the room 
of Jephthah, and on this he kept his gaze, until 
presently it became in a moment softly shaded, as 
if to screen the eyes of one who slept. Namarah, 
indeed, had soothed her father into a gentle slum- 
ber, and when it was known unto her that he slept^ 
she stepped forth into the garden. 

She had even refreshed her from her journey, and 
clothed herself in snow-white garments, perfumed 
with myrrh and frankincense, in which she moved 
softly down the garden-walks to meet him whom 
her soul did love. The grasses of summer bent be- 
neath the soft pressure of her feet, and the vines 
divided themselves at the light touches of her hands. 
The trees above her were as the wall of her temple 
of love, and the moon pierced through to light it. 
Adina stood and waited in the spot made sacred to 
them by the early dawnings, as well as by the frui- 
tion of their love ; and as the maiden, fair and white 
as if made of the rays of the moonlight, moved 
softly toward him, he stretched out his two arms. 
She came to them with full gladness and assurance, 
as one of her white doves, after long wandering, 
cometh home. 


JephthaJis Daughter. 


335 


And Adina spake no word ; only he drew her to 
him, and folded her to his breast close, close, as 
though he would never lose her again. As she 
rested so, feeling against her heart the full throb of 
his, while that his close clasp tightened and his 
breath came quick, it seemed to her a moment of 
such rapture that the thought of her heart came 
forth in words, as she said, on the breath of a low- 
drawn sigh : 

“ I would that I could die even now !” 

And Adina answered : 

“ And I with thee, that our wsouls together might 
return to God who gave them.” 

But Namarah made answer : 

“ Nay, it was unwisely said, seeing that we have 
left all to God, and we should have no choice but 
that His wisdom maketh. Is it not so with thee, 
Adina ? Let me hear thee say it, else my soul can 
have no. rest.” 

And Adina said, most tenderly : 

“ Ay, beloved ; it is so.” 

Most merciful is our God,” saith Namarah, 
“ seeing that He hath even comforted the soul of 
my father Jephthah, who hath fallen into a sweet 
repose. It will be thou, my Adina, who will miss 
me most, for the heart of my father Jephthah is, 
first of all, the heart of a soldier, and rumors have 
reached him of approaching war, wherein he will 
be called upon again to lead the hosts of Israel to 
victory ; and it doth soothe me much to feel that 
therein he will find relief and cure for his sorrow- 
ing for nie. But thou, my loved one, what wilt 


336 


Jephthalis Daughter. 


thou do without the maiden of thy love, who doth 
in turn love thee so mightily that she would even 
rather die to-morrow, in the flower of her youth, 
knowing the sweet possession of thy love, than 
live the longest life allotted unto woman, apart 
from thee or in possession of that lesser love 
wherewith most women are content. Speak thou, 
beloved. Dost thou not feel that God hath richly 
blessed us both and crowned our lives with 
good ?” 

And Adina answered : 

“ Yes ; I feel it, maiden. And so great is my be- 
lief in His lovingness and mercy that I cease not, 
even now, to pray the prayer thou gavest me for 
deliverance.” 

“ It is most sure,” said Namarah, earnestly. “ It 
may not be such as we would choose or look for ; 
but He hath heard that prayer of mine and thine 
each time our hearts have breathed it, and the 
answer doth somewhere await us. I love thy body, 
my Adina,” she went on, “thy golden curls, wherein 
I seem to touch warm rays of rippling sunlight — 
thy sweet soft flesh, thy noble figure — thy hands, 
thy arms, thy most sweet lips and eyes, but more 
than these I love the spirit in thee, the self of thy 
soul, that in thy kisses and the glances of thine 
eyes is made one with the soul within this body, 
which is yet a dearer thing to thee, I know, than 
the flesh and eyes and lips thou lovest so. All flesh 
is as grass, and as the flower of the field passeth 
away, but our souls are of God — our love is but a 
part of the Supreme Love, and whatever happens 


JephthaJi s Datighter. 


337 


to our bodies, surely our souls shall live forever 
in that love, in the presence of God and the 
angels/’ 

She spake these words in solemn whisperings, 
more tender than the cooing of the doves, more 
murmurous than the rippling of the brook, and as 
Adina bent his head to answer her, their lips met 
in a solemn kiss. 

No eye saw that parting, when at last Adina 
wrenched his heart away from hers. They two 
were alone in the silence with God. Even the dove 
came not near them to-night, but remained apart 
and alone, as if it had knowledge of all and forbore 
to come between the beating of their hearts and the 
communion of their souls. 

At the rising of the sun next morning, the altar 
was made ready in the heart of a deep wood, and by 
it stood a priest of the High God. The wood was 
in readiness, and the fire prepared, nor was the 
offering for the sacrifice wanting. She stood, a 
pure virgin, clad in stainless white, and on her right 
hand was her father Jephthah, and on her left, the 
young man Adina. And the face of the maiden 
Namarah was calm and peaceful, and her eyes 
trustful and quiet as be the eyes of children when 
they know their parents are close by. And her 
face, for all its paleness, was more beauteous to look 
upon than ever it had been before, for the light 
that shone upon it was not wholly that cast by 
the rising sun, but, as it were, a light from within 
her soul. And Adina’s face was radiant, too, so 
that it seemed as if one light illumined them from 


338 


Jephthali s Daughter. 


within, even as the same sun from without. And 
Namarah's voice, as she spake, was tranquil and 
assured. 

“ Make ready thy fire, O priest of God,” Na- 
marah said, “ for all is ready.” And she turned 
and kissed her father Jephthah full tenderly. 
Then, speaking once more unto the priest, she 
said : 

“ I pray thee, while that the fire is kindling, suf- 
fer us to kneel and say one prayer — I and the young 
man Adina.” 

And they knelt together, both in virgin white, 
their hands clasped close, and their faces raised to 
Heaven, and the prayer of their hearts, even as the 
fire blazed and crackled, and the knife gleamed 
sharp and threatening near by, was that the God in 
whom they trusted would deliver them, in His own 
time and way. 

And they knelt so long in silence that the priest, 
who wished not to interrupt their prayers, was fain 
at last to speak to them, lest the sacred fires should 
burn too low. But there came no answer to his 
words, and when he turned and looked into their 
faces, that wondrous light was gone from them ; for 
their spirits had fled together, and the glare of sun- 
shine upon them revealed that they were even the 
faces of the dead. 

And it was even so that God delivered them. 
This was His time and place, and He had chosen 
His own way. And that the vow which Jephthah 
had vowed might be accomplished, the body of the 
maiden Namarah was laid upon the altar, and with 


JephthaJi s Daughter, 


339 


it the body of the young man Adina, a burnt-offer- 
ing unto the Lord. 

And as the fires upon the altar began to sink, an 
object that seemed to fall straight from out the sky 
dropped down and fell into the flames ; and lo ! it 
was the body of a snow-white dove, which had been 
even dead before it touched the fire upon the 
altar. 


THE END. 



A German Detective Novel. 


THE TELL-TALE WATCH 

(Der Lebende hat Recht.) 

FROM THE GERMAN OF 

GEORGE HOCKER 

BY 

META DE VERE. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAQ AN. 

12xno. 350 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This story is based upon a thrilling tragedy in real life, which 
created a sensation in Germany, and which in the form of a novel 
is equally thrilling and interesting. German novels are usually 
quiet and domestic, and while interesting and charming, are sel- 
dom exciting or dramatic: “ The Tell-Tale Watch ” is both, and 
will satisfy the taste for a mystery which, in the beginning, seems 
almost unfathomable. It is a strange story with an original plot, 
and one which will cause difference of opinion, as the sympathy 
of the reader is excited in favor of one character or another. It 
is not a story which any one who reads will consider dull. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel by the Author of ‘‘A Priestess 
of Comedy/* 


COUNTESS DYNAR; 

OR, 

POLISH BLOOD. 


BY 

NATALY VON ESCHSTRUTH, 

Author of A Priestess of Comedy f “ A Princess of the Stagey* 

etc. 


WITH ILL U8TBA TrON8 BY JAME8 FAQ AN. 


12mo. 867 Fag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.26. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Nataly von Eschstruth’s novels are full of romantic sentiment 
that takes one completely out of the ordinary atmosphere and 
situations of common life. There are a swing to her style, a con- 
tagious enthusiasm and extravagance in her descriptions and a 
freshness in the emotions and passions of her characters, which 
command the attention, excite the feelings and absorb the in- 
terest of every reader. All who have read the “ Priestess of 
Comedy” will appreciate the truth of vyhat we say. ‘‘Countess 
Dynar ” is a book of most unusual beauty. The illustrations are 
admirably illustrative of the scenes and characters. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


LITTLE HEATHER-BLOSSOM. 

<ERICAJ 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


FRAU VON INGERSLEBEN,. 

BY . 

MARY J- SAFFORD. 


WITS ILLUSTBAIJONa BY WARREN B, DAVIS. 


12mo. 470 Fag«s. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00* 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This novel is one of the most interesting that has been pub- 
lished in this country, taken from the German. It has more 
variety of character and scenery than is usual in German novels. 
All admirers of Marlitt will find it a novel to their taste. Miss 
Safford, the translator, who was the first to discover the merit of 
Werner and Heimburg, is very partial to it. Among its salient 
points are a wreck, a runaway, life in a castle on the Rhine, with 
its terraces sloping to the river, balls, entertainments and exqui- 
site character sketches.* The heroine is one of the loveliest 
creations of fiction. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A War Novel. 


THE GUN-BEARER. 


BY 

EDWARD A. ROBINSON 

AND 

GRORGE A. WALL, 

Authors of ^'‘The Diskf etc. 


WITH ILL U8TRA TI0N8 B Y JAME8 FA QA N. 


12mo. 276 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


A new and thrilling war novel of intense interest, narrating 
the experiences of a private soldier whose regiment joins Sher- 
man’s army at Buzzard’s Roost, and shares the fortunes of that 
army, participating in all the engagements up to the fall of At- 
lanta. Thence with General Schofield’s command, pursued by 
General Hood into Tennessee, contesting the ground foot by 
foot, the regiment finally joins General Thomas at Nashville. 
The story culminates with the desperate battle of Franklin, 
where General Schofield, with ten thousand men, wrestled with 
General Hood and three times as many Confederates. Vivid 
descriptions of soldier life in camp, on the march, in bivouac, on 
picket, in skirmish and in battle, 'sustain the interest and hold 
the reader’s attention to the end. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Charming Novel. 




HEARTS AND CORONETS; 

OR, 

WHO’S THE NOBLE? 


JANE G. FULLER. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR LUMLET. 


12mo. 347 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


“Hearts and Coronets” is a novel in which rank and wealth 
are contrasted with the plainer elements of social life, and are 
shown to be no bar to truth, purity and affection. The plot is 
extremely good, and appeals strongly to evory mother who has 
ever looked upon a lovely child in the cradle and considered the 
possibility of its being suddenly snatched away and its fate re- 
maining for years a sealed book. There are possibilities in life 
more strange and surprising than any of the inventions of the 
novelist, and this story, like many others which strike the reader 
as improbable, is founded on fact. It is a deeply interesting nar- 
rative, with many delightful pictures of domestic life and woman’s 
experience. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE IMPROVISATORE; 

OR, 

LIFE IN ITALY. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 

Hans Christian Andersen. 

By MARY HOWITT. 

ILLUSTRATED BT HARRI a EDWARD& 


12nu>. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This is an entrancing romance dealing with the classic scenes 
of Italy. To those who desire to behold with their own eyes 
those scenes, it will create a fresh spring of sentiment, and fill 
them with unspeakable longing. To those who have visited the 
fair and memory-haunted towers and towns of Florence, Rome 
and Naples, it will revive their enthusiasm and refresh their 
knowledge. Andersen published this novel immediately after 
his return from Italy, and it created an extraordinary effect. 
Those who had depreciated the author’s talent came forward 
voluntarily and offered him their homage. It is a work of such 
singular originality and beauty that no analysis or description 
could do it justice, and the universal admiration which it at once 
excited has caused it to be read and reread throughout the world. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt o: price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A French Detective Novel. 


THE FROLER CASE. 

BY 

J. L. JACOLLIOT. 


Translated from the French by H. O. Cooke. 

ILLUSTRATED BY A. W. TAN DEUSEN. 

12mo. 230 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This story is a characteristic French detective novel, equal to 
the best of Gaboriau’s. The plot is laid in the Central Office of 
the Parisian police, and the victim of the murder is at the head 
of the detective bureau. The boldness, the mystery and the ob- 
stacles in the way of the escape of the perpetrator of the crime 
lend themselves to produce a deep and thrilling interest to every 
page and chapter of the novel. There are no detective stories so 
good as the French, from which all our American stories of the 
kind are modeled. ‘‘The FrolerCase” is the work of a past- 
master in the art, of whom the author of “ The Leavenworth 
Case ” might take lessons. There is nothing exaggerated or im- 
probable, and no failure to keep the movement of the story brisk 
and exciting. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


An Interesting Novel. 


A SLEEP-WALKER. 


% Nooel. 


BT 

PAUL H. GERRARD. 


ILLV8TRATED BY WARREN B, DA7I& 


ISmo. 314 Pagres. Handsomely Botmd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


‘‘ A Sleep-Walker ” is a novel of incident. As the title indicates, 
complications arise from the doings of a fair somnambulist. In 
the 'opening a mysterious woman is discovered in the act of throw- 
ing a child into a reservoir. The fate of the child and the iden- 
tity of the woman are matters upon which the plot of the story 
turns. Much is involved, and a large number of persons inter- 
ested, and a series of events transpire, all of which go to form a 
dramatic story ot most sensational interest. The story is pub- 
lished simultaneously in England and this country and is well 
calculated to please readers in both countries. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Fresh Novel From the German. 


WOOING A WIDOW. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF 

EWALD AUGUST KOENIG. 

BY 

MARY A. ROBINSON, 

Translator of A Child of the Paris hf etc, 

WITH IL USTRA TIONR B Y JAMES FAQ A N. 


12mo. 380 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Koenig is one of the most popular novelists of Germany, and 
“ Wooing a Widow” is his best work. The widow in the story 
has more than one wooer, and there is great uncertainty as to the 
one ultimately to win and wed her. It is an exciting story, with 
a succession of interesting incidents in the working-out of an ex- 
cellent plot. It is rare that we find a story from the German so 
well planned and so delightfully carried out. It can be read at 
one sitting without any feeling of fatigue, as the story is inter- 
esting from beginning to end. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


An Attractive Novel. 


HER LITTLE HIGHNESS. 

. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

NATALY VON ESCHSTRUTH, 

Author of A Priestess of Comedy f “ Countess Dynarf 
“ Princess of the Stage f etc.^ etc. 

BY 

ELISE L. LATHROP. 

WITH ILUSTRA TTONS BY JAMES FAQ A N. 

12mo. 303 Pag-es. Handsomely Botmd in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


‘‘Her Little Highness” is Baroness Eschstruth’s latest book 
and one of the most charming novels that has come from her 
pen. The little princess, who is the heroine of the story, is the 
heir of a ducul throne, which in Germany makes her a being apart 
from the rest of the world, which tends to heighten the piquancy of 
a being so very human and so very natural. Her little highness is a 
little woman from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and her 
love of Valleral, a gay and frolicsome courtier, is the most natural 
thing in the world. However unsuitable for the husband of a 
princess Valleral may be, the reader of the novel will enjoy the 
situation that the love affair creates. Valleral is a widower, with 
a son almost as old as the princess, and as sober as the father is 
frivolous. The little princess’s fate is bound up with these two, 
and we could not detail all the complications in their relations 
without depriving the reader of the pleasure of following out for 
himself a most interesting love story. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William ano Sprjjce Streets, New York. 


THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 


BY 

E. VON DINCKLAGE, 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


By S. E. BOGGS. 


WtTB ILLUSTRATJONS BY WABBEN B, BA VIA 
/ 

I2mo. 318 Pagres. Handsomely Botind in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

The Little Countess” is a delightful novel. It is full of life 
and movement, and, in this respect, is superior to most transla- 
tions from the German. It is distinctly a story to be read for 
pure enjoyment. The little countess belongs to an ancient and 
noble family. She is left an orphan in a lonely old castle, with a 
few servants and pets. Her heroic temper sustains her in every 
trial. The part played by an American girl in the story is very 
amusing, and shows what queer ideas are entertained of American 
women by some German novelists. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New Vork, 


THE CHOICE SERIES. 


No. AND Title. 


Author. 


Cloth. Paper. 


1 — A Mad Betrothal 

2— Henry M. Stanley 

3— iler Double Liife 

4— Unknown 

5— The Huninaker of Moscow... 

6— Maud Morton 

7 — The Hidden Hand 

8— Sundered Hearts 

9— The Stone-Cutter of Liisbou.. 

10— Lady Kildare 

11— Cris Rock 

12— Nearest and Dearest 

13— The Bailifl'’s Scheme 

14— A Leap in the Dark 

15— The Old Life’s Shadows 

13— The Lost Lady of Lone 

17 — lone 

18 — For Woman’s Love 

19— Cesar Birotteau 

20— The Baroness Blank 

21— Parted by Fate 

22— The Forsaken Inn 

23— Ottilie Aster’s Silence 

24— Edda’s Birthrii^ht 

25— The Alchemist 

26— Under Oath 

27 Cousin Pons 

28— The Unloved Wife 

29— Lilith - 

30— Reunited 

31 — Mrs. Harold Stai^f^ 

32— The Breach of Custom 

33— The Northern Light 

34— Beryl’s Husband 

35— A Love Match 

36— A Matter of Millions 

37— Eugenie Grandet 

38— The Improvisatore 

39— Paoli, tne Warrior Bishop... 

40— Under a Cloud 

41 — Wile and Woman 

42— An Insignificant Woman 

43— The Carletons 

44— Mademoiselle Desroches 

45— The Beads of Tasmer 

46— John Winthrop’s Defeat 

47— Little Heather- Blossom 

48— Gloria 

49— Ravid Lindsay 

50— The Little Countess 

51— The Cbautauqiians 

52— The Two Husbands 

63— Mrs. Barr’s Short Stories 

54— We Parted at the Altar 

55— Was She Wife or Widow?... 

56— The Country Doctor 

57— Florabel’s Lover 

58— Lida Campbell 

59— Edith Trevor’s Secret 

60— Cecil Rosse 

61— Love is Lord of All 

62— True Daughter of Hartenstein 

63— Zina’s Awaking 

64— Morris Julian’s Wife 

65 — Dear Elsie 

66— The Hungarian Girl 

67 — Beatrix Rohan 

68— A Son of Old Harry 

69— Romance of Trouville 

70— Life of General Jackson 

71— The Return of the O’Mahony. 

72— Reuben Foreman, the Village 

73— Neva’s Three Lovers 

74— “Em” 

75— “Em’s” Husband 


Lanra Jean Libbey 

Henry Frederick Reddall 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. K. N. Soutbworth 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 1 

Major A, R. Calboun 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Prof. Wm. Henry Peck 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Captain Mayne Reid 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

Honore He Balzac 

August Niemann 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Anna Katharine Green 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Honore De Balzac 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Honore De Balzac 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Sonthworth 

ii ii ii 

A Popular Southern Author 

Robert Grant 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. (Translator) 

E. Werner 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Anna Katharine Green 

Honore De Balzac 

Hans Christian Andersen 

W. C. Kitchiu 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safford 

W. Heimburg 

Robert Grant 

Andre Theuriet 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safford. (Translator) 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

«« «< 

S. E. Boggs. (Translator) 

John Habberton 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Malcolm Bell 

Honore De Balzac 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis — 

H (t 

From the German 

ti ii 

Mrs. J. Kent Spender 

Elizabeth Olmis 

From the German 

«i ii 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Albion W. Tourgee 

Brehat 

Oliver Dyer 

Harold Frederic 

Blacksmith. Darley Dale 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutbworth 

n ii ii 


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THE CHOICE SERIES==Continued 


No. AND Title. 


Author 


Cloth. Paper. 


76— The Haunted Husband 

77— The SSiberian Exiles 

78— The Spanish Treasure 

79— The K.ini$ of Honey Island — 

;80— Hate of the Easter Bell - 

l81— The Child of the Parish 

\j82— Miss Mischief- 

83— The Honor of a Heart 

84— Transgressing the Eaw 

85— Hearts and Coronets 

86— Tressilian Court 

87— Guy Tressilian’s Fate 

88— Mynheer Joe 

89— The Froler Case 

90— A Priestess of Comedy 

91— All or Nothing 

92— A Skeleton in the C’oset 

93— Brandon Coyle’s Wife 

94— Love 

95— The Tell-Tale Watch 

96— Hetty; or the Old Grudge 

97— Girls of a Feather 

98— Appassionata 

99— Only a Girl’s Heart 

100— l^e Rejected Bride 

101— Gertruile Hadtlon 

102— Countess Dynar, or Polish Blood. 

103— A Sleep-Walker 

104— A Lover From Across the Sea and 

105— A Princess of the Stage 

106— Countess Obemau 

107— The Gun-Bearer 

108— Wooing a Widow 

109— Her Little Highness 

110— In the China Sea 

111— Invisible Hands 

112— Yet She Loved Him 

113 — The Mask of Beauty 


Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Col. Thomas W. Knox 

Elizabeth C. Winter 

Maurice Thompson 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr. 

Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach 

W. Heimburg 

From the German 

Capt. Frederick Whittaker 

Jane G. Fuller 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

4 < a 

St. George Rathbome 

From the French by H. O. Cooke. 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Count Nepomuk Czap.ski 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutliworth 

<i ti it 

Honore De Balzac 

From the German 

J. H. Connelly 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Elsa D’Esterre-Keelina: 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. South worth 

it it it 

it it ii 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Paul H. Gerrard 

Other Stories. E. Werner 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

JuUen Gordou 

E. A. Rohinson and G. A. Wall... 

Ewald August Koenig 

Nataly von Eschstrutli 

Seward W. Hopkins 

F. von Zobeltitz 

Mrs. Kate Vaughn 

Fanny Lewald 


ii.oo 

50 cts, 

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Every Number Beautifully Illustrated. 


For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or sent post- 
paid on receipt of price by 


Robert Bonner’s Sons, 

PUBLISHERS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York City. 







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